Disbelief
by The Flaming Dragonfly
Summary: Johnny is the victim of a savage assault.  Warning for violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Disbelief**

(Edited Version)

By The Flaming Dragonfly

_I feel that I must preface this story with a bit of background and a strong warning. When I first presented Disbelief, I received some negative feedback. I believe that much of it was based on a childish feud in the Emergency fandom that I stumbled into. I have no desire to get back into that mess. Therefore, let me ask that if you have an issue with this story, please just ignore it. Go read something else. This story is very graphic, and my portrayal of the antagonists is not flattering. I didn't want it to be a pleasant story. I wanted to dig into the depths of post traumatic stress disorder, and according to previous feedback I have succeeded. Thank you in advance for your understanding._

_Please be warned that although I have edited the story, it still contains strong language and sexual violence. _

_The original version of this story cannot be published on this site. If anyone wishes to read the original, email me privately and I will give you the address._

* * *

><p>I hate late calls, Johnny thought as he dashed for the squad. Just when the movie had been getting good, too. Chet had gotten them interested in one of his old monster movies, and the plot had been about to reach its climax when the klaxons sounded. An unknown type rescue. Johnny felt a twinge of anxiety when he heard the location. Several skirmishes between the largely unemployed population of the area and the police had occurred in recent weeks. It seemed that the heat of summer, combined with nothing to do, created a sense of antipathy among the residents.<p>

Roy started the squad, and they pulled out, shivering a little in the cool air. The call took them into an old, run down section of the city, on streets that were lined with bars, cheap hotels, and hookers. Johnny searched for the particular bar they had been called to: Melvin's Place.

"There it is," he said suddenly, pointing to a generic, concrete building with a flashing neon sign hanging haphazardly from one corner. Roy grunted in reply, parking the squad as close to the curb as he could manage. Several cars crowded the front of the bar, and groups of men hovered outside. The paramedics pulled their boxes of supplies from the compartments, then made their way through the men.

The bar assaulted their senses with the inevitable cigarette smoke and loud music. Somewhere they could hear a pair of voices raised in what seemed to be a rather boisterous argument, and nearly everyone in the bar paused to stare at the strangers.

Roy stepped to the counter and motioned for the bartender. "We got a call," he said to the disinterested man. "Is someone sick or hurt?"

The man shrugged. "I don' know what wrong wid 'im, and I don' care, but I ain' havin' no mess in here."

"Who?" Roy asked.

The bartender pointed across the bar. "That fool over there. The one who puked all over hisself."

Johnny and Roy looked and saw the man he was talking about. An obviously inebriated man had vomited and now sat on the floor propped up against the wall, his head thrown back. Roy glanced at Johnny, who made a face of resignation before leading the way to the fallen man.

Roy knelt down and tried to rouse the man. "Sir? Sir? Are you okay?"

"Wha—" The man slowly shook his head. "Wha d'you wan'?" he slurred.

"Sir, you've vomited. Do you feel sick?" Roy tried to keep the man's attention. "Sir, do you feel sick?"

"Get your hands off me!" the man said, struggling a little against Johnny's attempts to take his blood pressure. "I said..." He suddenly threw up, catching the dark-haired paramedic by surprise.

"Ah!" Johnny cried, tumbling backward. He grimaced as he surveyed the damage.

Roy tried to stifle a grin. "Okay, Johnny?"

His partner glared at him. "Just great," he growled.

"Uh, sir, we need to check you out," Roy tried.

"I'm fine," the drunk replied as he wiped his face with the back of his hand. "Just leave me alone."

Johnny stood up, holding his arms away from his body. "Sir, are you refusing treatment?"

The inebriated man glowered up at him. "Get outta my face," he demanded, waving his hand. "Get away."

A rumble seemed to traverse the bar, and the paramedics glanced around. The crowd of men had moved closer to them, not overtly threatening but giving warning signals just the same.

Roy climbed to his feet. "Let's just do the MICU and get out of here," he suggested.

Johnny frowned. "Man, I gotta go wash up."

"Well, make it quick," Roy said strongly. "I'll take the equipment out."

"I'll be out in a minute."

Roy picked up the biophone and drug box and started toward the door. The bartender called out to him.

"Where you goin'?" he demanded. "Take him wid you!"

Roy shook his head. "We can't treat him without consent. He refuses treatment."

The bartender glared at the paramedic. "Well, that jus' great. Wastin' my time with you white boys."

Roy sighed, then continued to the door, fighting to make his way through the throng of people. The atmosphere in the bar was going decidedly downhill, with several patrons glowering at his back, and he fervently hoped his partner would hurry. He had a funny feeling about Johnny being alone in such a place.


	2. Chapter 2

_Warning for violence_.

* * *

><p>Johnny entered the men's room, and after hesitating with a look of distaste on his face, leaned over the lone sink. He turned on the hot water faucet, waited a few minutes for the water to actually become warm, then gave up in disgust. He scrubbed the vomit from his arms and hands, grimacing as he realized that no soap was available. The final insult came when he reached for a paper towel and found none.<p>

The squeak of the door told him that he was no longer alone in the bathroom. Vague uneasiness filled him, and he glanced into the broken mirror. Three men stood behind him, blocking the doorway.

"Hey, man, you got any money?" one man asked.

Johnny turned around, his dripping hands extended. "No, man, I don't have any money. I'm a paramedic and—"

The second man stepped forward. Johnny immediately noticed a scar that deformed the man's mouth, pulling one corner down into a constant frown. "Where yo money?" he demanded. "I know you got some." He lifted a cue stick. "So where is it?"

"Hey, look, I'm telling you—" Johnny's protest was cut short as the cue stick swung toward his head, and he was astounded by the crashing pain that resulted from the blow. He raised his hands to protect his head from further attack, reeling backward into the wall, but someone yanked him out and dug for his wallet.

"No…"

"Shut up," someone snapped, and Johnny once again felt a crack against his head.

"Just—just take the wallet," he croaked, peering at his attackers through squinting eyes. He shrank back as he saw the scarred man lift the cue stick once again. "Just take—"

His words were choked off by yet another blow across his head, and his knees began to buckle.

"Aw, man!" The man who had taken the wallet dropped it in disgust. "Five dollars! That all he has, man! Five dollars!"

The scarred man raised the cue stick and jabbed Johnny in the back. "Man, you wastin' my time! You fancy white boys comin' here where you don't belong, messin' wid us, thinkin' you better than us. You shouldn't come out here, white boy!" He raised the cue stick and brought it down against John's back, punctuating each strike with a shout.

Johnny tried to protect himself as the cue stick was pounded into his back, but everywhere he turned he felt the blows. He collapsed onto the floor, and immediately realized the mistake when a booted foot kicked him in the gut.

Another kick to his groin made the room spin, and tears squeezed from his tightly closed eyes as he gasped through the pain. He attempted to curl up, but he felt himself being dragged, and the sudden increase in the noise level told him that he was out of the men's room and in the bar. Cigarette smoke gagged him and burned his eyes, and he knew that he was being punched, but he no longer felt pain. Hands grabbed at him, ripping his uniform into shreds, pinching his skin and gouging his flesh. Someone pushed him forward until his hips hit an obstacle and he doubled over. His face slammed down onto something hard...he finally recognized the felt surface of a pool table. A black ball rolled lazily toward him, bumping into his nose before gently retreating.

And then, as if in answer to his deepest fears, he felt fingers tugging at his belt, and his pants were wrenched to his ankles. No…no…this can't be happening…not this…but then his boxers were yanked down as well, and hideous whoops and shouts bombarded his ears, and he screamed.

* * *

><p>Outside the bar, Roy became aware of a rising commotion inside. He turned from closing the compartment door and noticed that several of the men who had been milling about outside were now crowding in through the door. He craned his neck in an attempt to see inside, but the mass of men made it impossible for him to discern anything.<p>

_I don't know what's going on, he thought, but I sure hope Johnny had enough sense to stay out of it._

* * *

><p><em>Oh God…Roy…<em>

Someone shoved him from behind, nearly lifting his feet from the floor. His arms were each pulled out to the side, held by hard hands that mocked his puny strength. And then, as disbelief flooded his breast, and as his mind and maybe even his mouth chanted over and over stop… please don't do this…please don't do this…stop…stop…stop…he knew, he knew that something unspeakable was about to happen.

* * *

><p>Roy stood as close to the entrance as he could get, straining to get through the throng. He could discern shouts coming from the back of the bar, and occasional words reached his ears…words that scared the hell out of him.<p>

"I need backup here, now! I don't know…my partner's in there, and there's a mob…I don't know what's happening!"

Roy dropped the microphone, whirling in terror as a piercing scream reached his ears.

"Johnny!" He flung himself into the crowd, and even managed to make some headway into the bar, but then angry hands pushed at him, shoving him away from the nether world of the dark bar.

"Get outta here, man!" someone shouted, grabbing at his arm.

"Bring 'im in!" another man taunted. "He wants to be part of the party!"

Roy backed away, torn by his desperation to get to his partner and the realization that the situation had spiraled completely out of control. He was almost glad that he couldn't get back into the bar…he was afraid of falling to the same fate as his partner, and he felt his throat burn with shame at his own cowardice. He paced furiously around the squad, dividing his time between listening for a siren and drowning out the cries that he knew came from Johnny.

The cavalry arrived. Roy jettisoned himself toward the engine, intercepting Cap before the latter had even opened the door. At the same time, Vince and another cop pulled up.

"Johnny's in there! The mob…I don't know what's happening…hurry!"

Cap quickly took in the scene and instructed his men to make use of the hoses. Vince hurtled himself into the mass of men, barking orders to the firemen. High-pressure streams of water dispersed the crowd, allowing the police and firemen to safely enter the bar. Roy slipped in, carrying the biophone and trauma box.

Pandemonium reigned, but Roy used his slight familiarity with the bar to head toward the restroom. And there, curled on the floor next to the pool table, his pants pulled down to his ankles and his shirt ripped and stained with blood, lay his partner. As Roy got closer he could see more blood smeared across John's buttocks, and the enormity of what had happened nearly stopped him cold.

_I could have stopped this…I should have gotten back in…_

"Johnny…my God."


	3. Chapter 3

_This chapter comes with a warning for descriptions of sexual violence. Although I have edited the actual rape from this version, I have retained the doctor's examination._

* * *

><p>He heard a voice. Calm and petrified at the same time…familiar…lifesaver…but too late…<p>

His name called over and over…warm hands gently pushing him onto his back. He parted his eyelids. Roy. No…go away…

"It's okay, Johnny. Just lie still. Everything's okay now."

Liar…

"It's okay now."

Johnny closed his eyes again, tears escaping from between his dark eyelashes. He heard Cap's voice, and Vince's. Roy's quiet words directing, and Chet's hushed responses. He felt a blanket covering his nakedness, and a squeezing sensation indicated that someone had placed the BP cuff around his arm.

"He's cold." Chet. Scared out of his wits.

"That and shock." Roy. "One hundred over eighty."

"Roy, the ambulance is here." Cap.

"Okay. We'll be through here in just a minute." Johnny felt Roy's hand rest on his belly, under the blanket. "Respirations twenty-four. Have you got Rampart?"

"Yeah." Johnny could hear Chet speaking quietly, and he guessed that he had contacted the hospital. _For me?_

"IV. Ringers lactate. Oxygen."

Johnny suddenly felt sick. He lurched over and vomited bile, then coughed so hard that he was sure his guts were being torn out. The coughing brought on more gagging, which in turn caused more retching. In a panic he struck out with his hands, feeling that he was being smothered.

Many hands…holding his arms and legs…he couldn't move…

* * *

><p>Roy recognized the expression on Johnny's face, although he had never seen it on his partner before. Sheer, unadulterated panic.<p>

"Back off!" he ordered. "Everybody, back off!"

Cap, Vince, Chet, and Marco all reluctantly released their hold on Johnny. Roy alone knelt next to him.

"Johnny, it's okay. Everything's okay. You're safe. Do you understand me?"

Blank eyes lifted to his. Blank eyes that transformed into expressions of incredible hurt. Roy found that he couldn't turn away.

Chet's voice broke the trance. "Roy, Rampart wants to know our status."

"Right." Roy seemed to shake himself. "Johnny, we're gonna start an IV on you, and then you're on the way to the hospital. I'm gonna give you some oxygen, okay?"

He held up the mask as if waiting for John's permission, but he received nothing. Johnny lay on the floor and stared at the ceiling.

Roy glanced up at the others, then started the IV. Chet quietly spoke into the biophone, and Cap sent Marco to guide the ambulance attendants.

Johnny flinched as the needle pierced his vein. Roy swallowed. "Sorry, Johnny."

"Where…where…were you?"

"What?" Roy stared at his partner, his face suddenly white.

"Where were you?" Johnny's words, whispered and yet as forceful as if he had shouted them, split Roy's chest into two.

"Johnny…" Roy stopped, his mouth seeming to be caught between a sob and a frantic explanation. "I—I couldn't get back in. The crowd—they were crazy. It was a mob. I called the police. I didn't know what else to do."

Johnny looked away, and Roy could see tremors race their way across his body.

"Johnny, please understand—"

"Roy." Chet caught Roy's eye and he shook his head.

"I'm sorry," Roy said to Johnny as much as to Chet. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

><p>Drifting…far away. Roy and Cap and Chet had faded from him, which was good. He couldn't look at them any longer…didn't want to look at them any longer. The smoky air and the occasional shouts and the sharp retorts of authority still blasted into his consciousness, but even those reminders were being pushed away. He floated...slowly, carefully, landing on a firm cloud that enveloped his body and that gently rocked him. Cool breezes wafted over his face, but an irritating light flashed, and he closed his eyes to block the pain. No more pain…no more memories…it all needed to go away. They all needed to go away…<p>

* * *

><p>Roy stood back as Johnny was lifted into the ambulance. He had tried to avoid thinking about what had happened to his friend in the bar, but the reality picked away at him, refusing to allow him peace.<p>

_I should have gotten to him. Look what I've done…_

Cap had patted him on the shoulder as the gurney had been wheeled out of the bar, and Chet had mumbled something encouraging, but Roy knew that the nightmare of what had happened was just beginning.

He climbed into the ambulance and sat next to Johnny. He noticed that his partner's eyes were closed, but he was sure that he was fully conscious.

"Just hold on, Johnny," he said quietly.

He could see John's eyes move under the lids, and the steady breathing became ragged. Suspicious moisture developed in the corner of each eye.

"Hold on."

* * *

><p>Roy's fingers once again slipped around his wrist. The fingers felt ice cold and stiff, like a corpse. The BP cuff tightened around his arm. A hand reached under the blanket, lying carefully on his belly, and he jerked, his eyes flying open.<p>

Roy removed his hand and said something low, something that he couldn't hear. Probably an apology.

He heard his partner talking on the biophone. The monotone of his voice didn't allow him to hear the words. _What's he saying?_

The ambulance slowed, then backed into the emergency entrance of Rampart, and with breathtaking shock Johnny remembered why he was on a stretcher. Suddenly the oxygen mask seemed to be suffocating him, sucking air instead of providing it, and he pulled it away from his face.

"Leave that on, Johnny."

"Fuck you." The words slipped out, and he watched Roy's face transform from concern to hurt and shock. He turned his head away.

"Exam Three." Dr. Early fell in beside the gurney. Johnny could feel the doctor's gaze, but he didn't meet his eyes.

He allowed them to move him to the exam table, but when Dixie went to lift the blanket, he grabbed the edge and pulled it to his chin. "No!"

"Okay, Johnny. You just keep it for now."

"Don't patronize me."

"I'm just trying to help you, Johnny. I know you've been through a lot tonight."

He lifted his head to see Roy. "Ask him what I've been through. He knows."

The stricken expression on Roy's face tore at him. He could hear whispers, then the door opened and someone left. He felt sure that Roy had left.

Dr. Early leaned over him. "All right, Johnny. Let's take a look."

"No."

"No? Johnny, you need to trust us. We only want to help you. No one is going to hurt you. Now let's move the blanket."

Johnny held on even harder. "I—I don't have—my clothes. They—ripped—uh, they were ripped."

"That's okay, Johnny. We'll cover you with a sheet, and we'll only uncover what we need to check, okay? Will you let us?"

_They're going to see…they're going to know._ "I can't," he said, his voice beginning to shake. "I can't." He turned away, and tears slipped down his cheek. "Is Roy gone?" he asked hoarsely.

"No," Dixie supplied quickly. "He's waiting in the hall."

"Can—can you ask him to come in?"

"You bet." Dixie squeezed his shoulder. A moment later he heard Roy's tread in the room.

"I'm sorry," Johnny called out, unable to turn to face his friend.

"It's okay."

"All right, then, let's get the sheet ready." Dr. Early placed his hand on Johnny's arm. "We need to do this, Johnny. I promise we'll be gentle."

The sheet was placed over the blanket, then the blanket was pulled away. Johnny focused on the ceiling as Dr. Early first shined a penlight into each of his eyes.

"Do you have a headache, Johnny?"

"Yeah." Johnny flinched as Early's hands probed his skull.

"You may have a concussion. You've got some nasty bumps." The doctor finished his examination of Johnny's head, including a look at his nose and mouth, both of which had been bleeding. "How about your ribs? Any tenderness?"

Johnny braced himself for Early's palpitations of his ribcage. Several areas were sore, and he groaned.

"Looks like you might have some cracked ribs. We'll get some x-rays. How about your arms and legs? Any pain?"

"No." Johnny clasped his hands together in an attempt to keep them from trembling so violently.

"All right then." Early paused, and Johnny squeezed his eyes shut to keep more tears from escaping. "We need to check down here, now." He touched Johnny's hip. "Okay?"

Roy cleared his throat. "Uh, Doc, do you want me to leave?"

"No, stay!" Johnny blurted. He met his partner's eyes, embarrassed at his outburst but desperate for him to stay. "Please."

Roy managed a small smile. "Yeah, I'll stay."

Johnny lay absolutely still except for the tremors that traveled up and down his body. He stared at the ceiling as he felt the sheet being moved, and he tried to block out the doctor's quiet comments. So determined was he to remove himself from the situation that he violently started when Dixie leaned into his face.

"Johnny?"

"Wh—what?" he stammered.

Early answered. "Were you kicked or hit in your groin?"

"Er—yeah." _They hurt me…my God how they hurt me._

Early's reassuring voice reached through his rapidly blinking eyes. "You've got some bruising and swelling, but I don't think there's any serious damage."

The examination continued. He could feel Dr. Early's gentle probing, and he was irresistibly drawn back to the attack and the brutality of the men. His shaking grew progressively worse, and he opened his eyes to see Roy move closer to him.

"It's okay, Johnny," his partner told him. "Almost done."

"Johnny," Dr. Early said, "I need you to roll on your side, okay?"

He shivered even harder. _Not this. I can't._

"Come on, Johnny," Dixie coaxed, nudging his shoulder.

"No." _They hurt me…I can't…_

He found himself on his side. He wasn't even sure how he had gotten there, but then he felt someone touching him, and even though the hands that probed him were careful and non-threatening, panic overtook him. With a cry of raw fear, he scrambled off the table, wrapping the sheet tightly around him. The IV ripped from his vein, sending a stream of blood down his arm. He backed against the wall, facing three people who had been close friends for years but who now were as alien as the men who had attacked him in the bar.

"Stay away from me."

He watched his friends watch him, all four of them wary and confused. It was Dr. Early who sized up the situation first.

"It's okay, Johnny. I know this is very difficult for you, but we're all here to help you."

"I want to go home." Despite his best intentions, his voice cracked.

Roy cautiously approached him. "I'll take you, but you need to let Dr. Early finish the exam."

"Take me home, Roy. You promised." He pleaded with his eyes, his voice, his being. "Now."

"You may have a concussion. You need x-rays. Just let Dr. Early finish, and then I'll take you right home. Okay?"

"I'm not a fuckin' kid!" Johnny shouted. "Just take me home!" He stumbled backward against the wall, knocking into several instruments, and the crash sounded like a thousand fireworks exploding in his head. He whirled, his hands covering his ears, the sheet still grasped in his fingers.

"Take me home," he cried, losing his battle with his fragile emotions. "Roy, you promised!" He stumbled for the door, only stopping when Dixie literally threw her arms around him, and he stood against her, allowing her soothing words to penetrate his growing panic.

"Johnny, I know you've been through a horrible ordeal, but you've got to let us help you. We're all your friends, you know that. We wouldn't do anything to hurt you, but you could have some serious injuries, and we want to help you. Will you let us?"

Johnny shook his head. "I can't…I'm sorry, Dix, but I just can't. I've gotta go home. Roy promised to take me home. I'll be okay, but I've gotta go home." As he spoke he wormed his way from Dixie's grasp, once again backing away from his friends. "Just…just let me go, please. I'm okay now. Really. I'll take some aspirin, and I'll get some rest, I promise, but I've gotta go."

"Johnny," Dr. Early said, stepping up to Dixie, "I promise we'll let you go home, but you need to let us take care of you first." He extended his hand. "Won't you let us help you?"

"I can't," he said, his eyes tearing. "Please understand. I can't do it."

Dixie tried again. "Johnny, you need to understand our viewpoint. We are obligated to protect our patients. We can't just let you walk out of here like that. You've been injured, and we want to help you. That's what we're here for. And that's doubly true for a friend. Just think how you feel when someone refuses treatment when you try to help them. You know that they need your help, but they won't let you. Doesn't that bother you? I know it does."

Johnny shook his head. "I don't care," he said. "Just let me out of here. You can't force me to stay."

Dr. Early stepped a little closer. "Johnny, I don't want to force you, but I will if need be. Now come on back to the table."

John raised his hand. "Doc, I'm leaving. I want some clothes so that I can go. Please."

Dixie placed her hands on her hips. "John Gage, I can't believe that you're fighting us like this. I know you're upset, but—"

"You don't know shit about what I'm feeling!" Johnny interrupted with a savagery that stopped the nurse cold. "How the hell would you know what I'm feeling? Any of you?"

"Johnny—"

"No!" Johnny stumbled to the door. "I'm leaving, and if you won't give me something to wear I'll just go like this! It doesn't matter to me, but I'm leaving and that's all there is to it." He glared at the trio, daring them to try anything more to convince him to stay, his chest heaving with a mixture of emotions. Tears filled his eyes, and he furiously wiped his face with the sheet, but his resolve never wavered. He was leaving, and there was nothing they could do about it.

"Johnny, listen to me." Dixie had inched closer to the distraught paramedic, and he fixed anguished eyes on her. "Just come back to the bed and lie down and we'll let you rest for awhile. We won't bother you, I promise. Will you do that for me? Just lie down on the bed. We can get x-rays and finish up later. Please?"

He could feel his determination to leave begin to dissolve. Immense weariness had slipped into his limbs, replacing the tense fear. Just to lie down, to rest. To forget…

"Okay," he whispered, dropping his hands a little as his muscles relaxed as one. "I'll lie down."

Early, Roy, and Dixie all sighed in relief, but Johnny never noticed as he took faltering steps back to the bed. Dixie helped get him situated and restarted his IV, while Dr. Early and Roy watched from the doorway. The nurse flashed a brief smile as she joined the men, and they slipped into the hall.

"Good work, Dix," Early said. "I really thought he was going to leave."

"Well, sometimes it takes a woman's touch," she replied, pleased.

Early turned to Roy. "We'll keep an eye on him, Roy. I don't believe he has a rectal perforation, but later I'll have to do a more thorough exam. We'll let him calm down for a bit."

"Sounds good, doc," Roy said, yawning.

Dixie raised her eyebrows. "You'd better get going," she said. "Try to get some sleep."

"Yeah, sounds good." Yawning again, Roy turned and made his way to the doors.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Roy." Dwyer looked up from the table in the kitchen as he set his cup of coffee down.<p>

Roy sat next to him, eyeing the coffee with surprise. "Dwyer, it's two in the morning," he observed.

"Yeah. Great time for coffee." The replacement paramedic grinned, then turned somber. "I heard about Gage. It's hard to believe."

"Tell me about it. I keep thinking I'm going to wake up from a bad dream."

Dwyer took a sip of coffee. "How…how bad…well, you know."

"Bad. I don't know all the details yet, but he's really been traumatized."

"Man. This job just gets more and more dangerous."

"Yeah. And I felt so helpless. I mean, it was a mob scene. I couldn't get near him. I know he blames me."

Dwyer shook his head. "That's too bad. I wonder—"

The klaxons sounded, and Dwyer's sentence was left unfinished as the paramedics trotted to the squad.


	4. Chapter 4

_Please note that this chapter contains descriptions of the rape._

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><p>Johnny had thought that he would immediately fall asleep in the darkened room, but the pain that tore through his body whenever he moved kept him awake. He huddled into the covers, pulling them closer to his head. It wasn't that he was cold. Rather, he felt vulnerable with his body uncovered.<p>

A wave of fear flooded him. He was alone. Abandoned. Adrenaline rushed through his body, and despite the pain he sat up, scanning the exam room for any movement. Of course there was none, and he wearily lay back down, but his heart continued to pound in his chest. He knew that his eyes glistened with tears, but he ignored them until one slipped across the bridge of his nose.

_No. I won't cry. I can get through this. I will get through this._

But the wet spot on his pillow grew progressively larger, and the blood that had begun to seep from his body soaked through the blanket and sheets, creating an ever-increasing stain across the table.

He awoke with a start and looked around with no idea of where he was. His body seemed to be strangely numb, and his surroundings loomed like a nightmare.

He sat up, still not feeling any sensations, and after a moment slipped from the exam table. He could feel a wetness in the sheet that he pulled around his shoulders as he walked, and a sense of faraway discomfort poked at the edges of his consciousness, but he felt no alarm. He found himself before an automatic door, and as it opened he stumbled through, just making it to the outside wall before falling.

The impact brought back the sensations of his body with a vengeance. He gasped in pain, wondering what had happened to cause so much agony.

_Lying across a pool table…his arms held on each side…_

_Shouting…chanting…and then the pain…the horrible violation…_

"No…oh, no…" He lay on the pavement and wept.

For an eternity he cried, and suddenly he didn't know why he was crying.

A gray, muted calm settled over him, providing a type of relief that almost took away the memories. Distant noises caught a bit of his attention, and he listened with mild interest to the sound of an engine.

Then he heard voices, at first difficult to hear and then much closer. As if from far away he saw his partner lean over him, and for the second time that interminable night he found himself experiencing Roy's skills as a paramedic.

* * *

><p>On a gurney. He recognized the rolling sensation. People all around him. Roy. Dr. Early. Dixie. Dwyer.<p>

Roy's voice. "He was lying in the ambulance bay. I'm glad we didn't hit him."

Dixie patting his shoulder. "Johnny, what are we going to do with you?"

Back in the exam room. Something about bloody sheets…

Dr. Early's soft voice, speaking to someone behind him. The clatter of instruments.

The sheet pulled away. Too weak to move…too ashamed to lie still...

Lying on his side, exposed with his knees pulled up. A new sheet covered his shoulders and his legs, but he could feel the cool air on his back and buttocks.

"Okay Johnny. We're going to take a look. You may have a perforation. This is going to hurt, but I'll be as gentle as I can."

_No…no…_"No."

He involuntarily gasped as he felt Dr. Early's hands, and his muscles tensed in a panic-driven spasm. He could see Dixie's face close to his, and he knew that she was speaking to him, but he heard nothing but the cheering mob.

Once again he felt himself being horribly violated, felt the invasion of his body, his privacy, his dignity. He choked back a sob, swallowing convulsively in a vain attempt to keep from weeping, grasping Dixie's hand in desperation as Dr. Early performed the necessary exam.

* * *

><p>Roy started to go to his friend but stopped, remembering the blame that Johnny had placed on him. He felt Dwyer's hand on his arm, asking him to leave the room with him, but he shrugged it off. He watched as Johnny trembled so violently that Dixie could scarcely hold his hand. He saw the look that the doctor and nurse exchanged, and he knew that John had been badly hurt in the attack. He knew that the experiences of the night had irrevocably changed his partner and friend, lowering him into the depths of torture and embarrassment and shame, and the realization drove him to a level of rage that surprised and frightened him.<p>

_Those bastards…I'll kill them._ He saw Johnny squeeze Dixie's hand so hard she winced, saw the tears of pain and utter humiliation, heard the muffled sobs that his friend tried so hard to hide.

His own chest heaved as he attempted to control his emotions, knowing that Johnny needed him to be strong, but unsure if he could handle the raw hatred that coursed through his breast. _I'll kill them…_

A knock on the door caused all five inhabitants of the exam room to jump, then Roy went to open the door. Vince stood outside.

"Hey, Roy. How's he doing?"

Roy noticed the incident report the policeman was holding. "Not too great. Dr. Early's still checking him out."

"I need to talk to him as soon as possible—get a report."

"Right. It'll be a few minutes."

"No problem. Hope he's okay."

"Yeah." Roy nodded as he closed the door.

Johnny's panicked cry brought him rushing to his side.

"Roy! Roy! Where are you?"

"Right here, Johnny." Roy leaned into Johnny's face. "I'm right here. See?"

He watched as the younger man struggled to focus on his face. "Where were you?" John cried. "I couldn't see you!"

Roy gestured toward the door. "I was just talking to Vince," he explained.

"But I couldn't see you!" Johnny repeated. He released Dixie's hand and reached for Roy's.

"Stay here!" he pleaded.

"I will," Roy replied, taking hold of John's hand. "I won't leave again."

Johnny suddenly jumped. "No!" he exclaimed hoarsely. "No, stop!" He attempted to twist around, reaching behind him to swing his arm at Dr. Early. "Stop!"

Roy grabbed Johnny's arm and pulled it toward him. "Lie still, Johnny," he said urgently.

But Johnny began to struggle in earnest. "Get away from me! I won't let you do it again!" He thrashed uncontrollably, obviously in the throes of a horrific flashback, and as Dr. Early and Roy and Dwyer worked to restrain their friend, Dixie ran for assistance.

* * *

><p>Hands…holding him…invading him…it was happening all over again…<p>

He fought for his life, but nothing he did seemed to matter. Just like before.

"Let me go! No! Don't do it again! Please!"

More people…more hands holding him. He screamed…cried…begged.

Someone fell away…he struck out again, feeling an arm waver under his blow. He kicked, heard a cry. He twisted, freed one arm, then another.

But just as quickly he felt his limbs being restrained once again, pulling him into the vulnerable position that had brought on such panic. Exposed…open…violated. He couldn't move…couldn't escape. Too many hands holding him.

Helpless. And then he felt the invasion.

"No!" he shrieked, fighting against the hands. "No! Not again!"

* * *

><p>Roy held on tighter. He could feel his friend's muscles tense into rock-hard density born of a terror that overwhelmed reason. He could hear Dr. Early's terse commands to the nurses, and over it all Johnny's cries as he was wrenched through the assault all over again.<p>

At last it was over. Dr. Early withdrew the probe and pulled the sheet over Johnny's body once again. He vaguely heard the doctor comment that there was no perforation, just lacerations and bruising, and for an insane moment he felt like breaking into hysterical laughter. Sure, Doc. Just lacerations and bruising. Johnny's one hell of a lucky guy.

For his part, John seemed to have withdrawn into a trance of silence and immobility. He didn't object or help when he was moved onto his back, and he didn't acknowledge Dixie when she smoothed his hair.

He never moved when the x-ray machine was brought in, and when Roy followed Dr. Early back into the room he immediately noticed that the patient had not changed position. Johnny didn't respond when Roy told him that Cap had gotten a replacement for him as well and that he was going to spend the night at Rampart, nor did he reply to any questions. He just stared at the ceiling with unblinking eyes.

At last Johnny slept. Roy watched him for a minute to make sure, then he tiptoed from the room.

A glance at his watch told him that it was hard on four in the morning, and he knew that he should be exhausted, but the adrenaline rush that had sustained him from the bar to the hospital continued.

The anger also continued.

Vince had left an hour ago, after receiving Early's report. Johnny's statement would have to wait until later in the morning, when he would hopefully be able to communicate with some clarity.

The report had sickened Roy. Based on the physical evidence, it was apparent that Johnny had been the victim of a series of brutal attacks. Roy didn't like to imagine what Johnny had gone through, but he found that he couldn't completely block out the images. He had seen much in his years as a paramedic, but the fact that his friend had experienced a sexual assault made him want to throw up.

It also made him want to drive back to the bar and…

And what? What could he do? Fall victim to the same kind of attack? What possible good would that do for Johnny?

_I don't know what to do or how I should feel. I don't know what I'm going to say to him in the morning._

_And what do I say when he asks me where I was? Maybe if I had tried harder…maybe if I had gotten the fire extinguisher, maybe I could've gotten back in. Maybe if I'd just tried something…anything…_

Roy DeSoto wrenched himself from the wall and made his way to the men's room, where he leaned over the commode and threw up.

* * *

><p>The busy morning routine awakened Johnny. He opened his eyes and was immediately aware of a pounding headache. The next thing he realized was that he was lying in a hospital bed and that any movement caused excruciating pain. Especially…back there.<p>

_God help me. It's true. It really happened._ He felt the tears but this time did nothing to stop them. The enormity of what had happened to him crushed any resolve he still possessed, and he gave in to absolute wretchedness.

* * *

><p>Roy sat up. Johnny lay with his back to him and obviously didn't realize that he was in the room with him, or else he would surely have tried to hide the sobs. <em>Oh Johnny. What have they done to you? What have I done to you?<em>

He shifted in his chair, faced with the dilemma of letting his friend know he was present without embarrassing him. A sudden knock at the door solved his problem. Johnny rolled over, wiping his face with the sheet. His face froze in shock when he saw Roy.

The door opened and Vince poked his head in. "Hey, Roy," he greeted, nodding. "I was hoping to speak to John. Is he awake?"

Roy gestured toward Johnny, who was trying to unobtrusively dry his face before Vince came in.

The policeman entered hesitantly. "John, I'm sorry to bother you, but I've got to get a statement. I've already spoken to Dr. Early and Roy, and you're the last one."

"So—" Johnny had to pause to clear his throat. "So what do you want to know?"

Vince opened his pad. "Well, I know that you went into the men's room at Melvin's Place while Roy took the equipment outside. What I need to know is what exactly happened after that."

Johnny briefly met Roy's eyes before looking down at his hands. "I was jumped," he said shortly.

"How many men?" Vince asked, writing.

"I don't know. Two at first. Three."

"Okay. And I know that you ended up in the bar itself. Did they take you out of the men's room?"

"Yeah." Johnny had begun twisting the sheet in his hands.

"Then what happened?"

"They jumped me."

Vince glanced up at him. "The same men? Or more?"

Johnny twisted faster. "More," he said in a low voice.

"And they beat you?"

"Yeah."

"And…?"

Johnny did not answer. He dropped the sheet, only to pick it up again.

Vince stepped closer. "John, I've already spoken to Dr. Early," he said softly. "But I need you to tell me what happened. I need your statement."

"No," Johnny whispered.

"I know that it's difficult," Vince pressed, "but you can't let them get away with what they did to you. You need to give a statement."

"I told you. They…beat me."

Vince took a deep breath. "How many men sexually assaulted you, John? Two? Three?"

Johnny blinked hard. "None."

"Was it more than one?"

"I—it was—I wasn't—"

Vince lowered his report. "John, I know it happened. Now I want to catch them and put them away for what they did to you."

Johnny wiped his face with the sheet. "I—can't."

"Yes, you can. Don't let them get away with this, John. Now how many men sexually assaulted you?"

"I—I don't know."

"Was it more than one?"

"Uh…" Johnny valiantly forced his panic down. "Uh…yeah."

"What about the oral penetration? How many?"

The tears slipped. Johnny sniffed and wiped his eyes. "Just one," he finally said in a tiny voice.

Vince looked up from his writing. "Did he also penetrate you anally?"

Johnny's eyes brimmed with new tears. "I don't know," he said through a sob, bringing the sheet to his face.

"Okay. Were you restrained during the attack?"

"Yeah."

"How?"

Johnny shuddered. "Uh…my arms. They…held me. On the pool table."

"So they bent you over the pool table and assaulted you from behind?"

John could only nod this time.

"Did you get a look at any of your attackers?"

The nod turned into a vehement shake. "No!"

Vince eyed him closely. "You're sure?"

"Yes."

"What about the guys who first attacked you in the men's room? Did you get a look at them?"

The men's faces appeared in Johnny's mind. Angry. Uncontrollable. Sadistic. "No."

"Were they black or white?"

"Uh…black."

"Did they say anything indicating why they were attacking you?"

"No."

Vince again looked at him. "Do you remember anything that they said?"

_Ride 'em, man. C'mon, do it. Lemme at that white ass._

"No."

"Okay." Vince wrote some more. "How long did the attack last?"

An eternity. "I…don't know."

"Uh, Vince," Roy broke in tentatively. "I'd say it was about fifteen minutes before we were able to get to him."

Vince nodded. "Okay. Thanks, Roy."

Johnny glared at Roy. Fifteen minutes! Fifteen minutes of hell! Fifteen minutes of sheer torture, abandoned by his friends and left to fend for himself. "Fifteen minutes," he muttered.

"What's that, John?" Vince asked.

"Nothing." He stared at his hands until the policeman finally nodded and closed his report.

"Okay, that's everything. I'll be in touch. Take care, man."

Roy hesitated by the door, anxious to get out of the room. "Well, I'm gonna take off, Johnny. Uh, I'll take you home when Dr. Early releases you, so don't worry about that."

"I wasn't worried," Johnny told his hands.

"Yeah, well, okay." Roy wavered in the doorway. "Y'know, you're welcome to stay with me for awhile, until you get back on your feet."

"No. Thanks."

Roy moved through the doorway. "Okay. Uh, can I get you something? A magazine or something?"

Johnny swallowed hard. "No. I'm fine."

"Okay. Uh, I'll see you later." Roy finally made his escape, and fled down the hall of Rampart.

* * *

><p>Johnny was released from the hospital two days later, and as promised Roy arrived to take him home. The pair had spoken little during the two days, although Roy had made several attempts to draw John into conversation during his visits. The dark-haired paramedic only responded to direct questions, and did not initiate discussions. As Roy waited for Johnny to get dressed, Dixie called him aside.<p>

"Roy, I know you'll watch out for Johnny, but I just wanted you to know that he's really having a hard time."

"I know, Dix, believe me."

The nurse took Roy's arm. "You know that he blames you for what happened." she stated.

Roy sighed. "Yeah, I know. And part of me doesn't blame him. Maybe if I'd tried harder to get back to him or something."

"Well, I don't think you need to feel guilty, Roy. But just be aware of how he's feeling."

"I am." Roy tried to smile, failed, and went back to wait for his friend.

* * *

><p>"Why don't you stay at my house for a few days?" Roy asked again as they settled in his car. "I asked Joanne about it, and she's fine—"<p>

"No."

Roy sighed, having become accustomed to his friend's cursory method of answering questions lately. "Well, I'll check up on you until you come back to work."

"Whatever."

Roy pulled out of the hospital parking lot. "Make sure you take the stool softeners they gave you. And keep ice on—"

"I know what to do," Johnny broke in.

"I know you do, Johnny. I'm just concerned about you."

"Too little too late," the younger man mumbled.

The words shot through Roy's breast like an arrow. "Johnny, I'm sor—"

"Save it."

Roy started to speak, but stopped, feeling hopelessly inadequate. _He's right. I'm a poor excuse for a friend. I failed him._

* * *

><p>He paced his apartment, too restless to sit, too nauseous to eat. He had nearly literally pushed Roy out the door when the latter tried to stay. He just wanted to be left alone.<p>

The pain finally forced him to stop. The disgusting, mortifying, unbelievable pain…

He needed to use the bathroom, but the knowledge of the pain he would endure kept him from going for a long time. When he couldn't wait any longer, he nearly passed out on the toilet.

Breathing heavily, he raised himself and took off his remaining clothes. He felt filthy, and decided to take a shower, one of a series that he had taken since the attack. He was careful to avoid looking in the mirror, not wanting to see the bruises and welts that marred his body.

The water pelted his back with more force than the hospital shower had, and he sucked in his breath. He squeezed into the far end of the bathtub, but everywhere the water hit he felt as though he were being stung…

Attacked…

Unbidden, unwanted, the memories returned, as persistent and biting as the drops of water that struck him. The humiliation, the fear, the sickening stench of sweaty bodies. The loss of control, all autonomy completely taken from him. The taboo, the shame of being violated so violently, so disgustingly. Pulled over a pool table, exposed for all to see, open for all to take.

The question…the wondering…where were they?

No…he wouldn't remember. He couldn't. Remembering hurt too much.

He carefully moved into the water, cringing at the discomfort. The hot water burned his skin, and as he bent over to adjust the temperature he felt the stitches pull. The painful tug pushed him over the fragile limit he had set for himself, and he furiously flung the shower curtain aside and stumbled from the tub.

"Damn them!" he shouted, hurling his washcloth against the mirror. "I'll kill them! I'll kill them all!" He grabbed the bar of soap from the sink and threw it with all his strength into the wall, but even that act of violence was not enough to satisfy his overwhelming anger. He leaned over to pick up the soap, but the stitches once again pulled, this time drawing tears that were not entirely due to pain, and he fell against the wall, his face crumpled in sobs.


	5. Chapter 5

Roy stood outside Johnny's apartment door, not at all sure that he wanted to knock. He had come over twice since taking his partner home, and both times he had felt distinctly unwelcome.

But he had to keep trying. He had to do the right thing. Especially after failing so miserably before.

He knocked on the door. "Johnny? It's me. Roy." He had taken to identifying himself so that John would not have to go through the formality of asking who it was.

"Just a minute!"

Roy waited, listening with curiosity to the rapid footsteps inside the apartment. "Johnny? You okay?"

"Yeah…just gimme a minute."

Roy shifted position. He was tired, and wanted nothing more than to go home and relax, but he'd promised Johnny that he would come over today. He couldn't break his promise.

Finally the door opened, and Roy smiled at his friend. "Hey…thought you weren't gonna let me in!"

"Uh, yeah. Well, I was—busy, that's all." Johnny backed away from the door, and as Roy stepped into the apartment he could tell that John's bustling about had been a quick attempt to clean up some of the mess. A glance into the kitchen told the story—dishes piled in and around the sink, take-out boxes sitting on the counter and table, empty cans everywhere. And in the living room, clothes that had been hurriedly tossed onto one chair, with several socks and pairs of underwear stuffed under the couch.

Johnny blushed as he watched Roy look around. "I…need to clean up…been kinda lazy."

"Hey, I'm not here to inspect your apartment," Roy assured him. "So how's it going? Just about ready to get back to work, aren't you?"

Johnny nodded. "Yeah. Next Monday."

Roy looked closely at his friend and decided that the last place he needed to be was back at work.

"Do you think you'll be up to it?" he asked delicately.

Johnny gave him a quick glance that made Roy realize that no matter what he said, John was going to take it the wrong way. "I'll be fine."

"Okay." Roy fiddled with his hands. "Well, I just wanted to check—uh, what I mean is, I wanted to see—"

"Roy, you don't have to bother. Really. I'm fine. I know you've got to be tired." The unspoken request hung in the air. Go home.

Roy backed toward the door. "Okay," he repeated. "Well, I'll see you later. I'll call…"

"Sure. Later." Johnny turned and walked into the kitchen, and Roy saw himself out of the apartment.

* * *

><p>Johnny stood before his locker, his hands poised over the buttons of his uniform. He had not had his uniform on since…<p>

No. Don't think about that. Don't remember—

"Hey, Gage! You're back." Chet's cheery voice broke into John's thoughts. "Glad to see my favorite pigeon!" Johnny turned to see Chet's raised hand moving to pat his shoulder, and he violently shied away.

"Don't!" he cried involuntarily, drawing back into his locker. He could see Chet's shocked expression, and the flush of embarrassment covered his own face as he realized how he must look. With forced nonchalance he finished buttoning his shirt without another word as Chet moved to his own locker and began changing.

The uneasy silence finally broke with the voices of Marco and Mike as they came into the locker room. Both averted their eyes when they saw John, although both mumbled a greeting.

"Johnny! Good to have you back!" Roy's voice nearly squeaked as he joined his fellow workers in the locker room.

Johnny threw a quick smile of greeting over his shoulder before closing his locker and leaving the room. The only word he had spoken had been his panicked response to Chet's gesture.

* * *

><p>Hank Stanley glanced at his team, studying each member to see their reactions to John's return to work. He could see varying degrees of discomfort and uncertainty, and in Roy's case guilt, but Johnny's face remained impassive. <em>What's going on in his head?<em>

"John, it's good to have you back," he said, nodding at the dark-haired paramedic.

Johnny smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Cap."

Hank briskly assigned duties, then dismissed the men. "Uh, John, see you in my office?"

"Sure, Cap." Johnny followed the older man into the office, where Hank leaned back against the desk.

"I meant what I said," Hank began. "It is good to have you back. But I want you to be sure that you're ready, though. We've got plenty of time. No rush."

"I'm ready. I want to work."

Hank studied him, sensing hesitancy in the paramedic's manner. "My door's always open, you know."

"Yeah. Thanks, Cap."

"I…I know that you've been to see the department counselor."

Johnny's face betrayed a flash of anger. "I've seen him," he replied crisply.

"Well…that's good." Hank wondered at the anger. "Just wanted to make sure that everything's okay."

"It's fine, Cap. Really."

"Uh…" _What do you say at a time like this?_ "Well, let's get to work."

* * *

><p>Johnny slowly made his way through the bay. He briefly wondered where everyone was, until the murmur of voices from the kitchen caught his ear. He started to push open the door, but the words he heard made him stop cold.<p>

"Every time I look at him I see what they did to him. I don't even want to talk to him. I know that's terrible, but…"

"I know what you mean. I feel the same way. I mean, I keep wondering why he didn't…fight back or something."

"He must've fought back, but still…you can't help but wonder. Why did they do that to him? Why not just beat him up?"

"Yeah, I've wondered about that, too."

And then Roy's voice: "I don't know why they picked him to attack, but I don't think we need to wonder about it. It wasn't his fault—"

He jumped through the door. "You're damn right it wasn't my fault!" he exclaimed at the startled men. "I was abandoned in there! No one came to help me until it was too late! If someone would've come back in for me, I wouldn't have gone through—" His voice choked, and he wheeled and fled the kitchen, leaving his friends gape-mouthed.

* * *

><p>He lay on his bunk, figuring that Roy would come to him within minutes.<p>

Fine. Let him come. It didn't change anything. He'd been abandoned.

"Johnny?"

Right on cue. "Save it, Roy."

"We were wrong. Back there. We shouldn't have been talking about you."

Johnny sat up and faced Roy. "Y'know, that doesn't even matter. Nothing does. It happened and it's over, and I know what kind of guys I work with."

"Johnny, they don't know what to say." Roy gestured helplessly. "_I_don't know what to say. We're just so sorry."

"Just remember this," Johnny interjected. "You were safe outside. Remember? I was the one caught up in that mob. I was the one who was dragged over to that pool table…" His voice broke as he spoke the nightmare, reliving the horror before his friend. "Just leave me alone," he demanded, turning his back on Roy. "I've got nothing more to say." He sat motionless until he heard Roy's footsteps leaving the bay. It was only then that he wiped away the moisture that had appeared on his cheeks.

* * *

><p>Roy wandered about the station for several minutes before gathering up the courage to go to Hank. He found the captain in his office.<p>

"Cap? Can I talk to you?"

Hank looked up from the pile of papers he had been rummaging through. "You bet. I'd love an excuse to get away from this mess. What's up?"

Roy tried to unobtrusively close the door. "I was wanting to ask you about…well…" He stopped and sighed. "It's Johnny," he continued. "I'm not sure how he really is."

Hank leaned back in his chair. "I'm not sure either," he admitted. "But confidentially, I've got a report from the department counselor that says he's ready to return to work. Hopefully we'll have a quiet day—"

His words were cut off by the klaxons, summoning the station to a structure fire. Roy met Johnny as his partner rushed to the squad, welcoming the adrenaline that surged through his body, temporarily removing the fear that had taken over.

* * *

><p>The fire whipped out of control, searing its angry heat throughout the elderly building with orange fury. The firemen donned protective gear, and the paramedics prepared to search for any people caught in the three-story structure.<p>

Roy gestured toward Johnny. "I've got this floor," he shouted through his mask. "You go upstairs."

He left without waiting for a response, pushing his way through the thickening smoke. Johnny watched his back, unable to move, his feet melded to the floor. Fear coursed through his innards; raw, primal terror the likes of which he had not felt since that attack. Abandoned once again, left to fend for himself. As quickly as the thoughts moved into consciousness he tried to dismiss them, but irrationality kept him rooted, paralyzed by his doubts.

_I can't trust him. He'll leave me up there. They all will. No…they won't. But can I be sure? Roy…don't leave me here. Come back._

A sudden wave of intense heat burst over him, literally pushing him backward. Muffled shouts reached him through the roar of the fire, and he knew that the building was being abandoned.

Abandoned…

He took a step, confused and disoriented. Which way? He had last seen Roy heading down the hall, but flames now filled the narrow passageway. Turning around, he spied the stairway that he and Roy had come up. The urge to flee drew him to the top of the stairs, but uncertainty about Roy stopped him. Horrible indecision seized him, and he stood unmoving.

"Johnny!"

He started and nearly cried out in surprise as Roy grabbed his arm while calling his name. Even through the swirling smoke and the masks that both wore, Johnny could see the anger in his partner's face. Neither said a word as they carefully made their way down the steps, avoiding the fallen pieces of ceiling that littered the floor. A moment later they emerged into the welcome sunshine of the afternoon, where they could see the various firefighters working to contain the fire.

Roy ripped off his mask and turned to Johnny. "What the hell were you doing in there?" he demanded. "You were supposed to go upstairs. I looked all over for you, only to find you in the same place I left you!"

Johnny also removed his mask, careful to avoid Roy's angry eyes.

Roy continued, his voice calmer but still tinged with annoyance and concern. "Johnny, you know as well as I do that when we're in a burning building we've got to be able to know what the other is going to do. Our lives depend on it. I've got to be able to trust you."

Johnny flinched as if stung. He raised his eyes to his partner's and slowly shook his head.

"You've got to be able to trust me?" he repeated. "Don't talk to me about trust, Roy. You don't have a leg to stand on where trust is concerned. So just save your breath."

Roy's face reddened. "That's not fair! I'm talking about the fire, not the bar! Stop taking me back to that!"

"I don't have any choice!" Johnny shot back. "I can't get away from it!"

"Gentlemen!"

Both paramedics jumped as Hank appeared from behind the squad. The captain glared at his men, his hands poised on his hips. "What's the problem here?" he asked, looked from Johnny to Roy.

"There's no problem," Roy replied quietly. "It was my fault." He left Johnny alone with Hank.

The taller man looked down on Johnny. "Well?"

Johnny shrugged. "What do you want me to say? I don't know."

Hank sighed heavily. "I'm going to talk to both of you back at the station, so I'd suggest that you come up with something to say by the time we get back. Got it?"

"Yes sir."

* * *

><p>John and Roy arrived at Hank's office at the same time, and it was Johnny who pointedly stood back to allow Roy to go inside first. They each took a seat and waited in silence for their captain to join them. Neither looked at the other, but the tension that filled the room bore an almost palpable air.<p>

Hank strode in after a minute or two, and after closing the door, took his seat behind the desk. With a hard look at both men, he sat back in his chair and clapped his hands together.

"All right, men. Let's get to it. What happened back at the fire today?"

For the first time the paramedics glanced at each other, then Roy spoke.

"It was a miscommunication. That's all."

Hank's eyebrows raised. "I think it was more than a miscommunication," he said. "You were both pretty hot back there. I want to know why."

Roy shifted in his seat. "Well…I overreacted, but…well, I need to know where he's gonna be. I can't be searching a burning building for someone who isn't there."

Hank turned to Johnny. "What's your take on this, Gage?"

Johnny never looked up from his hands. "Nothing," he murmured.

"Nothing? John, I want an answer, and I want it now."

The younger man fiddled with his fingers. "It's just what he said. I wasn't where I was supposed to be. End of story."

"I thought he was searching upstairs," Roy put in. "I went looking for him when we got the call to evacuate. He wasn't upstairs. He never went up. I found him where I had left him. I just got a little hot…I shouldn't have."

Hank digested Roy's words for a moment, his fingertips pressed together as he thought. Johnny fidgeted even more, shuffling his feet and clasping and unclasping his hands in his lap. Roy sat still, watching his partner out of the corner of his eye.

"Okay," Hank finally began. "Roy, unless you have something to add, you can go. John, please stay."

Roy nodded and, after pausing next to Johnny, left, closing the door behind him.

Hank leaned forward. "This has to do with the bar attack, doesn't it?" he said bluntly.

Johnny shrugged.

"You froze. Why?"

"He left me," Johnny said, his voice so low Hank could hardly hear him. "If I had gone upstairs, you all would have left me."

Hank shook his head. "John, you know that's not true. None of us would leave you."

Johnny met his eyes. "But you did," he said accusingly. "How do I know you won't leave me again?"

"John…" Hank stopped, stumped. "I—don't know how to convince you, John. Trust is something that we have to earn, and I suppose you feel betrayed. But we need to be able to trust you, too. Especially in a situation like a fire. Can you understand that?"

"I know my job," Johnny replied testily.

"I know you do. But I'm not sure you're ready to be back. You went through a very traumatic event, and I think that you've got some issues that you still need to work through. I want you to go back to the department counselor, spend some more time with him." He got to his feet and approached Johnny. "Don't take this the wrong way, John. I sympathize with you, but I've got to watch out for all my men. I can't have you freezing in a crisis situation. It's not safe for anybody, including you." He reached over to pat Johnny on the shoulder, and was startled when the seated man shied away from his touch. He pulled back, worried and confused. John was acting just like…

"Uh, I'll call in a replacement," he said quickly, pushing the troubling thoughts back as he returned to his desk.

Johnny stood up and left without a word, but he managed to close the door with just a touch more force than was necessary.

* * *

><p>That night Johnny drove seemingly aimlessly, but when he pulled into the convenience store he knew that he had planned on coming here all along.<p>

Inside the store he once again wandered as though not sure what he wanted, but he quickly found himself standing in front of the cold beer display.

_I'm not a drinker, so what am I doing?_

He picked up a six-pack of Budweiser and carried it to the checkout.

"Is that all?" the checkout girl asked pleasantly.

"Yeah…no." Johnny scanned the packs of cigarettes. "A pack of Marlboros, too." He picked up a book of matches.

_I don't smoke._

_What am I doing?_

He paid for his purchases and carried them to his Land Rover. He set the beer on the floor so that the seat wouldn't get wet, then he stared at the pack of cigarettes.

_What am I doing?_

He peeled the wrapper off and pulled out a cigarette. Years before he had experimented with smoking, but his interest in rescue work had convinced him to put them away.

He placed the cigarette between his lips and lit it, taking shallow puffs at first, then deeper ones. The tip glowed brightly in the dark vehicle, and he rolled down the window to allow the smoke to escape.

_Dirty. Filthy. Bad._

He drove home, grabbed the six-pack, and trotted up to his apartment.

The descent into drunkenness tortured him. Every beer that he drank triggered new waves of guilt and confusion. I don't want to drink this. Why am I doing this? What is wrong with me?

And yet he continued to drink.

_Dirty. Filthy. Ugly._

_Bad._

Morning found him collapsed on his couch, six empty beer bottles scattered on the coffee table and on the floor.

* * *

><p>He called the department headquarters late in the day, waiting for his hangover to lessen enough for him to move from the couch. The call did little to help his mood; he found that an appointment with a new counselor had already been made for him.<p>

Loss of control. He recognized his anger, savored it, allowed it to grow. They had taken his power away, his autonomy. He couldn't even make his own damned appointment.

At least they hadn't sent him back to the first counselor. Actually, he had been amazed that he had been recommended to go back to work, because he doubted he had said more than a dozen words per session. The shrink just gabbed on and on, talking about previous patients he had counseled and the various problems they had encountered. John had merely sat in the deep chair, pretending to listen. Pretending to care.

The only thing the counselor had said that had made any headway with him had been the mention of a nurse who had been raped. Apparently she had fallen into a deep depression, started drinking heavily, and had finally attempted suicide before facing her demons in the psychologist's office. Although Johnny couldn't understand why the shrink had mentioned a rape victim, he found himself strangely moved by her story.

He flopped down in his chair and pulled out a cigarette. His rumbling stomach told him that he probably needed to eat, but his lingering headache and nausea kept him seated. Inhaling deeply, he laid his head back and closed his eyes.

The faces flashed into the darkness. He jerked, dropping the cigarette in his lap, then yelping when he felt the heat reach through his jeans. He staggered to his feet, clutching the cigarette in one hand while trying to pinch the fabric away from his flesh.

The faces…

He shook his head as though he could physically force the vision to disappear, but stubbornly it remained, taunting him. He bent to the task at hand, unfastening his jeans and sliding them off. A tiny hole marred the pant leg, and a faint red spot marked his thigh. With a muffled curse he tossed the jeans onto the back of the couch and stood staring at them, furious.

A knock at the door barely registered with him, and he automatically went to the door and opened it.

Roy stood in the hall.

Johnny nearly dropped the cigarette once again. "Uh—uh—Roy!" he gasped. "What are you doing here?"

His partner nearly hid his surprise at John's appearance. Nearly. "Uh, well, I was just coming over to see you." He tried to ignore Johnny's lack of pants. "I just wanted to see how you're doing."

Johnny suddenly became very aware of how he looked. "I—uh—burned my leg," he explained, gesturing toward his thigh. "Had to get my pants off to check it out."

Roy stepped in and closed the door. "How did you burn your leg?" he inquired, glancing at John's thigh.

"Uh—well—y'see—" Johnny lamely held up the cigarette. "I dropped it," he admitted.

"You're smoking," Roy observed dryly. "I'm surprised."

"Oh, I don't smoke. I just…this is just…" Johnny stammered into silence. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "It doesn't make any sense. I don't know why I'm doing this."

Roy went to the couch and sat down. "You want to talk about it?" he offered.

Johnny stood motionless for a long moment. "Roy?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't know what's going on with me." Johnny finally sat across from Roy. "I mean, I went to the shrink, and I tried to go back to work, but nothing is working."

"Well, I think that it's understandable that you'd have some problems after what happened. It's going to take time to get over it."

Johnny got back to his feet. "No…I want to get over this. But I feel so…" He looked down at Roy, wondering if he should say more.

"How do you feel?" Roy supplied.

"I feel…dirty." Johnny held up the cigarette. "I mean, this isn't me. I'm disgusted with myself."

"Maybe you need to go through this to feel better."

Johnny angrily stubbed the cigarette into an ashtray. "Roy, how is this going to help me? Slowly killing myself…yeah, that's a great idea."

"Well…" Roy struggled with his next words. "I know that you've been suspended. And I know that you're going to see a new counselor. Maybe…once you talk to him, you'll feel better."

Johnny managed a smile. "Sure. That'll work." He forced a yawn. "Roy, I'm beat. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

Roy's expression told John that he didn't buy a single word he had said, but his always agreeable partner played along. "Sounds good. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Uh, maybe you could put the cigarettes away for the night."

"Yeah. Good idea." Johnny tossed the pack onto the TV. "'Night."

He watched his friend reluctantly leave, and the first thing he did after the door closed was light another cigarette on the way to get a beer.


	6. Chapter 6

Johnny's first session with the new counselor started poorly. Too much beer the night before had left him with a terrific hangover, and he cursed the early hour of his appointment. Slouched in the waiting room, he morosely awaited his latest hour of avoidance.

Of course he had no intention of opening up to the new counselor. It was no one's business what he was thinking. And his pounding headache served only to aid his resolve to get through the session as quickly and quietly as possible.

"John Gage?"

He looked up into the face of his new tormenter.

"I'm Dr. Driscoll. Let's go inside, okay?"

Johnny dutifully followed the taller man into the office.

"Have a seat," Dr. Driscoll offered, gesturing toward a plush couch and matching chair.

Johnny chose the chair, where he sat and tried to think of what he would say to get through the session with as little pain as possible.

"It's nice to meet you," Driscoll began, taking a seat across from John. He flipped open a folder and perused the notes he had inside. "So you've already been to Will Jensen."

"Yeah."

"Didn't work out?"

Johnny rubbed his eyes. "I don't know. He was okay."

"So how's it been since he last saw you?"

"I don't know. Not great, I guess."

"In what ways has it been not great?"

Johnny pondered the strange syntax for a moment, then realized that he didn't have an answer to the question. "I don't know," he repeated lamely.

Dr. Driscoll looked up from his notebook. "I know that this isn't the easiest thing in the world to go through," he said gently, "but the only way it's going to get any better is to talk about it."

"Maybe." John wiped his face as the pounding in his head grew worse. "I just don't have anything to say." He grabbed at a fleeting straw. "I said everything to Dr. Jensen."

Dr. Driscoll looked at though he was about to say something, then seemed to change his mind. "Okay. Have it your way." He set his notebook on the table next to him, leaned forward, and plunged.

"John, you were sexually assaulted by several men. You experienced the deepest humiliation and pain that a man can experience. Now the question is, how are you going to deal with your feelings about all of this? How are you going to deal with your friends when you go back to work? What do you think, John?"

Johnny sank back, his hands strangling each other, his heart pounding. He swallowed several times before attempting to speak.

"I…don't know," he stammered.

"How do you feel about what happened to you at the bar?"

"How…I feel…" John collected a fragment of his thoughts, and something from deep within his soul blurted its way out. "Dirty."

"You feel dirty. Why?"

"Uh…" Johnny dug into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. "Do you mind?" he asked desperately.

"Go ahead."

Johnny fumbled with the match, struggling to light the cigarette because his hands trembled. Finally successful, he inhaled deeply.

"You know, I don't smoke," he said self-deprecatingly.

"I'll bet you don't drink, either," Driscoll returned, smiling.

"Well, just once in a while. Not like…" Johnny's voice trailed off, and Driscoll supplied the missing words.

"Not like you've been drinking lately."

"Yeah."

"So what's going on? Why the drinking and smoking?"

Johnny shrugged, and Driscoll once again helped him out.

"Does it have anything to do with your feelings of being dirty?" he asked gently.

John took a drag from the cigarette. "Uh, I don't know. I guess."

"You feel dirty, so you fulfill your own feelings. You don't smoke, and you don't drink to excess, but you feel dirty so you try to act dirty. You do things that you wouldn't normally do."

"Is that what I've been doing?" Johnny tried to sound nonchalant, but failed. Driscoll was too good.

"So what other unusual behaviors have you engaged in?"

Johnny stared at him. "What do you mean?" he asked breathlessly.

"Well, have you become sexually promiscuous?"

"Oh, man." Johnny leaned forward and snubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray. "Man, I don't think that I want to talk about this."

"Should I take that as a yes?"

"Man, I really don't want to talk about this," Johnny said, his words garbled as he rubbed his face.

"John, listen to me." Driscoll spoke very clearly. "This kind of behavior is normal. Do you understand? It is normal after what happened to you."

Johnny eyed him suspiciously. "No. I don't believe that. It can't be."

"And why shouldn't it be?" Driscoll countered. "Look what happened to you. Your autonomy was taken from you. Your sense of manhood. Let me ask you a very personal question. When you were being assaulted, did you experience an erection?"

John turned very red. "Why?"

"Because if you did, you need to know that it is very normal. Your body reacts to stimulation regardless of who is providing the stimulation. Understand? Your body doesn't know the difference between proper and improper stimulation. It just reacts. So you're not less of a man if your body reacted sexually to those men."

"I…don't know." Johnny pulled another cigarette from his pocket. "This is too much."

"It was too much when you were assaulted. That was the damage. Now we need to undo some of that damage. You need to understand your reactions so that you can deal with them."

Johnny stared at his lap. "I don't want to understand," he finally whispered.

"Why not?" Driscoll's voice was nearly as soft.

"Because…" John paused, watching the cigarette smoke drift to the ceiling. "Because I don't want to…I don't like…" He impatiently waved his hand. "I don't know! I don't know what to say!"

"You feel betrayed, don't you?"

Johnny chuckled. "Now that's an interesting word."

"Betrayal is an interesting concept. So tell me about it."

John leaned back, struggling fiercely to relax. "I don't know what you mean."

Driscoll's eyebrows raised. "Well, we've already talked about the betrayal of your own body. Can you acknowledge that?"

Johnny unconsciously crossed his legs. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay." Driscoll nodded. "Then let's talk about your partner. Roy."

Suddenly wary, Johnny also nodded. "What about him?"

"You said he was outside the bar during the attack. When did he come back in?"

"Uh, after the attack."

"After the attack," Driscoll repeated. "Why not before?" he went on, watching Johnny closely.

He was not disappointed. John's face flushed. "Well, he couldn't get in…he tried, but…" His voice trailed off.

"How do you feel about this, John?"

Johnny squirmed in his seat. "He tried to get to me, but he couldn't."

Driscoll once again dug in. "You were being sexually assaulted, John. Your partner, your friend, was safe outside. He didn't get to you until you had already been badly hurt. How do you feel about this?"

Johnny jumped out of the chair and stood next to it, his back to Driscoll. "I…felt…" His voice broke, and he bowed his head. "I wanted him to come help me," he said very quietly. "I kept calling him, but he didn't come until it was too late." He turned back toward Driscoll, his eyes red and moist. "None of them came until it was too late. I kept calling them…I wanted someone to help me, but no one came…" He slipped back into the chair, wiping his eyes with his hand.

Driscoll handed him a box of tissue, and Johnny gratefully took one.

The men sat in silence for several moments. It was Driscoll who finally spoke.

"Believe it or not, John, this has been good for you. Your feelings about the assault need to come out, as painful as it may be for you. I think that you'll be ready to go back to work very soon. Do you agree?"

Johnny's face brightened. "Absolutely," he answered emphatically.

"Okay. Let's have a few more sessions, and then we'll see about getting you back to work. You've made a great deal of progress today, John. And it will get better, I promise."

* * *

><p>Johnny returned to work after four weekly sessions with Dr. Driscoll. Both men felt that the best thing for Johnny was to return to his everyday routine, to learn to trust again.<p>

Unfortunately, Johnny's partner and co-workers had not had the same counseling, and so the stage was set for trouble when John walked through the doors of Station 51 for the first time in a month.

The first hours were quiet but tense. Roy struggled to act as though everything was fine, but he couldn't help but wonder what would happen when they went on their first run. Johnny, too, kept reliving the fire that had gotten him relieved of duty for a month. Both men tensed every time the klaxons sounded, waiting for the familiar tones that would be the beginning of their test.

Johnny finally went behind the station and tried shooting baskets, and after several minutes began to feel a little relaxed. He was even pleased to see Roy.

"Shooting some baskets?"

"Trying," John replied, watching as a particularly poor shot completely missed the basket. "Man, am I out of practice."

"It'll just take some time," Roy returned.

"Yeah." Johnny dribbled the ball a few times, then tossed it down and walked to Roy. "It'll all take some time," he said softly.

"You seem a lot better."

Johnny shrugged. "Talking to a shrink will do wonders for your sanity," he said, slowly grinning.

"Well, I sure am glad you're back."

"Me too. It's just…"

"What?"

Johnny wished he had the ball back so that he could keep his hands busy. "Well, I know that everybody's trying to act like nothing's happened, and I'm trying to do the same thing, but…"

"But it happened," Roy finished for him, and Johnny nodded.

"It happened," he repeated, blinking hard.

Roy sighed. "I know that we haven't talked about it much…well, I want you to know that I am so sorry about what happened. I wish I could go back and change what happened, but of course I can't."

"Yeah. Me too." Johnny managed a chuckle. "But, hey. It's over, and I'm back to work, and I feel pretty good!"

The partners laughed together, confident that John's recovery was well under way.

* * *

><p>The shift remained quiet, and Roy finally suggested that they run to Rampart for supplies.<p>

Johnny hesitated. Rampart…

"Coming, Johnny?" Roy called from the squad.

"Yeah," Johnny replied as he slowly made his way to the passenger's side.

He fidgeted constantly as Roy drove to the hospital, and as they backed into the ambulance bay Johnny found himself staring at the radio, willing it to spring to life with a call. But it remained stubbornly silent, and John was forced to follow Roy into Rampart.

Of course Dixie sat at the nurse's station. Johnny shrank against the wall when he caught sight of her. Roy, unaware of his partner's plight, continued on.

"Hi, Roy!" He heard Dixie's voice, saw her face light up as she looked up at Roy, and then her eyes searched for him. He tried to straighten up before she saw him, tried to look nonchalant, tried to act as though the last time he had been in the hospital had been a routine visit, but failed on all counts. He saw Dixie's _expression change into a look of pity, of knowledge. _She saw it all. She saw me fall apart. She saw me at the lowest point of my entire life._ "Hey, there, Johnny!" she called brightly, smilingly, but underneath the mask he saw her sorrow. "Come on over! Haven't seen you in forever!"

"Johnny!"

He gasped and jumped as a hand slapped his shoulder. Dr. Brackett immediately retreated a step, his face registering his embarrassment.

"Sorry about that. I have a bad habit of sneaking up on people." Brackett flashed a brief smile, then awkwardly continued down the hall to the nurse's station. Johnny saw Roy speaking, his voice low so that no one could hear.

_Go to them. They're your friends._ He took the first step, then the next, and the talking stopped, and they all were looking at him, their faces frozen in artificial grins, their arms and torsos posed like manikins. _Smile. Pretend like nothing ever happened. It's all an act anyway. If you pretend enough, it'll all go away._

"Got the supplies, Roy?" _My voice sounds like a little boy's. Scared to death._

Roy's pose broke. "Uh, no, not yet." He turned to Dixie, flustered. "We just came in for supplies," he said mechanically.

"Right." Dixie continued smiling as she slid off her stool. "I'm really glad to see you, Johnny," she said, moving closer to the dark-haired paramedic. "I've missed seeing you."

John never heard her. His total attention was fixed on Dr. Early as the doctor stepped out of Exam One and headed toward them.

"Hey, everybody," Early greeted as he joined them. He glanced at Johnny before speaking to Brackett.

"I think we've got a subdural hematoma, Kel. I've sent for x-rays to rule out a skull fracture."

Brackett looked puzzled for a moment. "Who…"

Early gestured toward Exam One. "Mr. Bentley. Remember, he fell from the roof?"

"Right," Kel replied, nodding his head.

"Well, Doctor, let's get back to work," Early prompted, taking Brackett by the arm. "Johnny, Roy, good to see you." He nodded at John as he passed.

Roy went about getting supplies, and Dixie answered a phone call, but Johnny stared after Dr. Early. He exhaled heavily, not even realizing that he had been holding his breath as he had waited to see how Early would react to him. The doctor's calm demeanor was a welcome change. _Thanks, Doc._

* * *

><p>Johnny performed well when the first call finally came. He allowed Roy to take charge, for he felt a bit rusty, but as he followed the ambulance he felt his old confidence beginning to return. The probable heart attack victim had responded well to their ministrations, and Johnny felt that he could go back to the hospital without the panic that had taken over before.<p>

The rest of the afternoon had consisted of simple calls, and the quick trips to Rampart had helped Johnny desensitize himself to the presence of the staff. He found himself feeling strengthened by the return to routine, and when he was at the station he began to relax around the guys. They, in turn, began to return to the way things had been before the run to Melvin's Place. Slowly, carefully, each man tread back into the waters of familiarity, easing into the camaraderie that had existed before. John allowed himself to trust his friends as long as the squad remained at the station, and the fact that no fires called them out the first day certainly helped the situation.

That evening was a different story.

* * *

><p>Cap froze as he listened to the voice of the dispatcher. No, not that place.<p>

"LA, is another squad available?"

"Negative, Engine 51."

_Damn_. "LA, be advised that Engine 51 will be accompanying Squad 51."

Johnny and Roy heard Cap's voice over the radio, and both knew what Cap was thinking.

Neither one said a word as they fetched their helmets and sped to the destination dispatch had just given them.

* * *

><p>Melvin's Place seemed somehow shriveled and forlorn in the early evening, before the brash neon lights and crowds of men made their appearances. Roy jumped from the squad and trotted to the other side—where he found Johnny pulling on his turnout coat.<p>

"Johnny…?"

"I've got the biophone," his partner responded shortly.

Roy stared at him for a moment before deciding to ignore the turnout coat. After all, what would it hurt? He pulled out the drug box and led the way toward the bar. Meanwhile, Hank jumped from the engine before it had even stopped and trotted over to the paramedics.

"Roy…?" His single word spoke volumes.

The senior paramedic shrugged. "I don't know," he replied quietly.

Cap gestured toward the engine. "Kelly, Lopez, accompany Gage and DeSoto," he instructed.

The two firemen started toward the paramedics, then waited while Johnny fiddled with the front of his coat. Roy turned back toward him.

"Coming?" he asked.

John pulled out the forcible entry tool and held it in front of him. "Yeah," he responded shortly.

Roy stepped into the bar and took a quick glance around. Unlike the last run to the bar, this time the crowd was much smaller and quieter. He gestured to the bartender.

"We got a call…someone sick?"

The bartender nodded toward the far corner…at the pool table. "Over there. Somebody's cut or something."

Roy bit his lip, then headed toward the pool table.

* * *

><p>Johnny made it through the door of the bar, but then his feet melted into the grimy floor, and he stopped dead. He stopped so suddenly that Marco actually ran into him.<p>

"Hey, John!" the surprised fireman cried. "What's going on?"

"Uh…nothing." Johnny inched forward, finally breaking free from the floor and moving farther into the bar. He could see Roy standing next to the victim…next to the pool table.

The dark, smoky atmosphere grew hot and loud in his ears. The music grew to a horrific crescendo, and the smoke stung his eyes until he felt tears develop.

"Uh…I can't…I can't go in…" Johnny whirled and fled the bar, stumbling past Marco and Chet in his haste. He didn't stop until he stood on the far side of the squad, where Cap found him nearly hyperventilating.

"Easy, pal," Hank said. "Just take your time." He gestured toward Chet, who had remained in the doorway of the bar. "See if Roy can bring the victim out here," he called.

Chet nodded, then disappeared into the bar. Johnny watched him, his breathing noticeably increasing as the firefighter went into the building.

"Hey, John, take it easy," Hank said, placing his hand on Johnny's shoulder. The jerking backward by the younger man did not surprise Hank, and he quickly removed his hand. "Why don't you come sit down?" he suggested, indicating the running board.

Johnny shook his head. "Roy…Chet and Marco. They need to get out…" His eyes remained fixed on the closed door, his mouth hanging open as he breathed ever faster.

A few minutes later the door finally opened and Roy emerged, supporting a tall black man. Chet and Marco closely followed, carrying the equipment. Johnny relaxed incrementally, until he got a better look at the victim.

Hank nearly yelped as Johnny stomped his foot in his haste to move back. As it was, he had to bite back a sharp retort until he realized that the young paramedic was completely terrified.

"John…what is it?" he asked, glancing at Roy as he approached the squad with the others.

"Uh…er…nothing," Johnny stammered, desperately trying to pull himself back together. He couldn't take his eyes off the victim…and the scar that deformed his mouth.

Roy had the man sit on the running board, and Johnny cautiously sidled around the front of the squad.

"Okay, we're gonna just bandage up that cut and you'll be good as new," Roy was saying as Johnny moved closer. "I don't think it needs stitches, but you might want to go to your doctor to have him check it out."

"I don't have no doctor," the man replied. He looked up as John approached, and a sudden look of recognition filled his face. He grinned, a hideous expression that made him look as though he were snarling. "Well, how about that," he said. "Another white boy. Man, I feel real privileged now. Wait till I tell everybody that I had all these white boys waiting on me! Why, I just might have to thank you in person," he went on, his eyes boring into Johnny's. "I bet you're a lot of fun. Fancy white boy in your uniform. But underneath you're just another boy. A cryin' little white boy."

Roy looked up at Johnny. "We're okay here," he said pointedly.

The dark-haired man knew that Roy was telling him to move away, but just as he had been frozen in the doorway of the bar, so now he was frozen under the stare of the scarred man. He was frozen in the memories…

The men's room…the cue stick pounding his head…the absolute helplessness as he was dragged from the bathroom.

Masses of men…shouts…cigarette smoke…a rolling ball.

His arms stretched out…his clothes pulled away…and the overwhelming disbelief.

"No!" He broke from the spell. The truth sat before him, his taunting eyes and devil's grin reminding him that the agony had been real, that the violation had happened, that the hell he had descended into had lived on.

They had taken him back, but they couldn't make him stay. They wouldn't abandon him this time. He backed away from the scarred man, from Roy, from Cap and Chet and Marco. He wouldn't be caught this time.

He flattened himself against the back of the squad, and somewhere he could hear the voice.

"Hey, I'm going. You put your Band-Aid on me. Now I'm gone. You white boys go on back to your fancy neighborhood. You don't need to be here."

He could hear Roy's voice, calm and tolerant. He was probably saying something that he thought would appease the man.

Footsteps. He knew whom they belonged to, and yet he still peered around the squad. No…

The scarred man paused briefly when he saw Johnny. The grotesque grin once again curled his lip. "Hey. Didn't think I'd see you again. The cryin' white boy. Maybe I'll make you scream again. You keep comin' 'round here. You must like it, huh, white boy? Little white gay boy. Maybe I need to get some more of your white ass." He chuckled and flicked Johnny's chin, then swiftly walked away into the deepening darkness of the evening.

Johnny stared after him, trembling violently. He didn't hear Roy or Cap when they came to him and spoke to him, and he wasn't aware that he had been guided to the running board to sit down. He was only aware of the grinning face, the scar, the words.

"Johnny? Johnny?"

"He was one." He spoke the words automatically, allowing them to slip out before realizing what he was saying. He became aware of Roy's face before his.

"Johnny? What are you saying?"

"He was one of them. He attacked me." Johnny's voice cracked. "He was one of them."


	7. Chapter 7

Damon Washington was arrested that night, and the following day Johnny was called to the police station to identify him as one of his attackers.

He stared at the man through the one-way mirror, taking in the glaring eyes and the hideous scar, and suddenly he had to vomit. He mumbled something to the police officers with him and then rushed from the room, searching for the men's room. Once there, he hunched over the commode, gulping the stale air in a vain attempt to keep his lunch down. He failed, flushed the toilet, washed his face, and returned to view his nightmare.

The police officers tried to appear sympathetic, but John could sense that they had seen too many victims, too many villains, and he was just one more. He filled out the appropriate paperwork, nodded when told that he would be informed of the court date, and left the police station.

He spent an hour incessantly pacing his apartment, smoking one cigarette after another, gulping endless cups of coffee.

They had one of them…the one who had savaged him. The others still lurked out there. But one wouldn't leave his mind. Despite being unable to leave the jail, the scar-faced man still managed to molest his way into John's thoughts. Glaring from a police line-up…mocking and laughing outside Melvin's Place…standing in front of him in a dark, terrifying bar…forcing him to do something so vile…so sickening.

Johnny dropped his cup, splashing coffee on his leg. He didn't even notice.

He had to forget.

Digging through his closet, he pulled out old shoeboxes that hadn't been opened for years. For perhaps ten minutes he feared that he would…wouldn't…find the particular box, and then, deep in the darkness of the closet, he found it. Partially crushed, yellowed with age, filled with papers with scribbled numbers and names that he hadn't recalled for at least five years. Two black books, one never used, the other filled with names from a time that he had tried hard to forget. He held the latter, resisting just a moment before opening it, wondering if he would remember the name he was looking for when he saw it.

Flannery. That was it. Nick Flannery. It had probably been seven or eight years since he had last spoken to Nick, and there was a good chance that the number was no longer valid, but he would try.

"Hello…uh, I'm trying to reach Nick Flannery…Nick…yeah…hello, Nick? Hi, this is John Gage. Remember…yeah! Hey, how're ya doing? Yeah, I know. Too long. Listen, Nick, I've got a favor to ask. Uh, you remember Paul Weston, don't you? Yeah, that's right. All the time…yeah, well, I'm looking for some…No, not for me…a friend…Yeah, that's it. A party. Tonight? Sure…nine it is. Okay, I'll see you there. Yeah…okay, bye."

He hung up and instantly decided that he would not go meet Nick. He couldn't.

Eight o'clock. He flipped through the channels on the TV, but nothing caught his attention. Eight fifteen. He would have to leave soon if he was going.

_But I'm not going._

Eight twenty. He grabbed his keys and left.

Ninety minutes later he returned to his apartment, closed and locked the door, and stared at the small paper bag he had laid on the counter.

He opened it. Pulled out a small corncob pipe.

Pulled out a rolled-up baggy with a small amount of crumbled leaves inside.

_Stop._

_Dirty. Filthy. Bad._

He filled the pipe with some of the leaves, fished a quarter from his pocket, retrieved the lighter that he had bought, and lit the pipe. After inhaling deeply, he placed the coin over the top of the pipe. He held the smoke in his lungs for as long as possible, then exhaled.

_What am I doing?_

He removed the coin and once again lit the pipe, once again inhaled, held it, exhaled. Again.

Again. He felt a wave of dizziness.

He smoked the entire amount in the pipe.

* * *

><p>He awoke late, with the sun streaming in through the windows. He hadn't closed the blinds, and he squinted at the bright light. For several seconds he couldn't understand why he was on the couch, and he tried to remember what he had been doing last night. The pipe lying on the coffee table abruptly brought him back to reality.<p>

"Oh, man! Oh, man, what have I done!" He snatched up the pipe and the baggy and scurried to his bedroom, where he tucked them both into the back of his underwear drawer. He then stood staring at the closed drawer, his mind racing.

He started pacing his apartment, reeling at his actions of the night before. The phone call to Nick. The drive out to meet Nick and Paul. Sitting in his apartment and smoking weed.

Stupid. Worthless. Dirty.

He stripped and stepped into the shower, scrubbing until the bar of soap was a mass of bubbles. He turned the water ever hotter, to the point that he nearly scalded himself. He rinsed again and again, almost frantically, almost sobbing, but the filth wouldn't wash away. The dirt…the ugliness…the horror…

He was worthless.

* * *

><p>The calls began soon after John received notice of the court date for Damon Washington. The first calls were simple hang-ups as soon as he picked up the receiver, but they quickly progressed to the caller keeping the line open without saying anything.<p>

Eventually the calls developed into something far worse.

"Hello?"

"Hey, white boy. I ain' believin' that you still answer your phone. Man, you mus' be some stupid white boy."

"What do you want? Why do you keep calling me?"

"Man, you know what I want. I want some more of your white ass. I wanna hear you cry again."

"Leave me alone!"

"Hey, y'know, I got to go to court because of you, white boy. Here I is on probation and now I gotta go back to court. Man, I didn't hurt you none. If I'd of wanted to hurt you, you wouldn't of walked outta Melvin's. No, you'd still be lyin' there cryin' and beggin' me to stop because your sorry white ass can't take a real man. I wanna show you how much it can really hurt. You ain' felt nothing yet, boy. You don't know pain. Jus' wait till I get you alone again, white boy. You gonna feel me good, and then I'll make you go down on me again. Sound good, boy?"

"Leave me alone!" Johnny slammed the phone down. He stumbled backward, knocking the receiver onto the floor by accident. Returning it to its cradle, he then slipped from the living room, wanting to get far away from the phone.

It rang. John jumped. He stared into the dim room, staring at the phone, knowing that the monster's voice lay so close.

"I won't go through this anymore!" he shouted, rushing for the phone. With a fury that terrified him, he grabbed the phone and hurled it onto the floor. The edge hit the top of his foot, but he barely felt the pain. The only thing that he cared about was the end of the ringing.

"Now try to call me!" he cried, kicking at the unfortunate appliance. His bare foot smashed the phone into the wall, creating a gouge in the surface. "Look what I did! Too bad!" Johnny stood still for a moment, just now beginning the feel the throbbing pain in his foot. He looked down at his foot, noting the very large red area from the phone.

"I need a drink," he announced to himself, limping into the kitchen and opening the refrigerator.

The first two beers disappeared with unnerving ease, but Johnny paced his apartment, too restless to notice the effects of the alcohol. He kept glancing at the disabled phone.

"He can't call…he can't call…but he knows where I live." He got the last beer from the fridge and popped off the cap. "He knows…he knows…" For the umpteenth time that evening he checked the lock on his door, swaying slightly and spilling his beer. "He knows…I need to get out of here." Looking around, he spotted his keys. Draining the remainder of his beer, he dropped the bottle on the couch and staggered from his apartment.

* * *

><p>The neon lights flowed like water. Mmmmeeeeellllvvvviiiinnn'''sss Ppplllaaaacccceee. He craned his neck, peering at the flashing colors through the window of his Rover.<p>

He opened the door and carefully slid out. The cold pavement shocked his bare feet.

Music floated from the bar. Voices popped and droned. Laughter crackled, then died. He leaned against the Rover, his arms feeling the heat from the hood.

"Welcome to hell," he whispered. "I'm back."

Pushing himself away from the safety of his vehicle, he stumbled into the deserted street, stopping halfway across.

"Where is he?" he called, but his voice refused to cooperate, and no one heard him. At least, no one looked at him with more than suspicious indifference.

"Where is he? Do you hear me?" he tried again, hoping that his voice was increasing in volume.

A few men looked in his direction, their faces indecipherable.

"Can you hear me? Where is he?"

One man broke away from the others and approached him. "What you want?" he snapped.

"Where is he?" Johnny repeated.

"Who?"

"Who? The bastard who killed me, that's who! Where is he?"

The man backed away from him. "Man, you crazy!" he said, starting to return to the bar.

Johnny followed him, his steps tottering. "He keeps calling me! He's got to stop!"

The man turned and faced John. "Go home," he said almost kindly. "You don't need to be here, man."

Johnny stopped. "But he keeps calling me. I can't…I can't stand it anymore!"

"Just go home, man. Go on."

John watched him rejoin the others, then, in a burst of decision, went back to the Rover.

* * *

><p>"Johnny? What are you doing here? Is something wrong?"<p>

Instead of answering, Johnny pushed past Roy and slammed the door shut.

"What's going on? Johnny—"

"You don't understand," John interrupted. "Nobody does, so I've gotta take care of myself. I just wanted you to understand."

"Understand what? Is somebody after you?" Roy tried.

"They all are!" Johnny exclaimed. "That's why I'm here. They don't know about this place."

Roy shook his head. "Please tell me you didn't drive over here like this." He grasped Johnny's arm. "Sit down before you fall over."

"Did you lock the door?" John asked, resisting Roy's attempt to guide him to the couch.

"I'll lock it now, but I need you to sit down."

"I don't think this is a good idea."

"It is. Just sit down and I'll lock the door."

John finally found the couch and Roy locked the door.

"Johnny, where are your shoes?"

John looked up from lighting a cigarette. "What?" he asked blankly.

Roy pointed. "You're not wearing any shoes. And what did you do to your foot?"

"Uh, nothing."

"Nothing! It looks like you dropped a brick on it." Roy knelt next to the couch. "Let me see," he said, reaching for John's foot.

"Don't…" Johnny flinched at Roy's touch but yielded to his friend's examination.

"I don't suppose you're feeling any pain," Roy remarked. "You may have broken it. You need to get it x-rayed."

"Yeah…whatever." Johnny jumped and looked wildly about. "What's that? Who's there?"

"Roy?" Joanne stood in the doorway of the living room. "What's going on?"

"Get back!" John shouted, leaping from the couch and lunging toward Joanne. "Don't let them see you!"

Joanne shrank back, and Roy grabbed Johnny from behind. A strange tussle ensued, ending with the drunken man being pinned onto the floor with the heavier Roy straddling him.

"Stop it! That's enough!" Roy glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Joanne shepherd Chris and Jennifer away from the living room.

He looked down on Johnny and suddenly all of his anger and frustration and pain poured out of him.

"Why are you doing this?" he shouted, shaking John's shoulders. "Why do you have to bring your problems here? I've tried to help you, God knows I've tried. But you just can't get over it. You have to come here and scare the hell out of my wife and kids!" He jerked John from the floor, forcing him to stand. "Look what you're doing to yourself! Drunk…driving drunk…Johnny, I just don't know what to do anymore. I'm sorry, but I can't stand to see you do this to yourself."

Johnny did not respond. He stood, eyes lowered, face blank. Roy released him, then turned and retrieved his keys.

"Come on. I'm taking you home."

He drove in silence, not trusting himself to speak until he reached Johnny's apartment. Once there, he turned to his friend.

"I'll pick you up in the morning, and we can get your Rover."

"Whatever." John sat still, his hand resting on the handle.

"Johnny, I'm sorry, but I don't know—"

"Yeah. I'll see you in the morning." John jerked the door open and exited Roy's car.

Roy watched him until he disappeared into the apartment. He drove home, but he would not sleep that night.

* * *

><p>Johnny sat morosely at the table, wondering if the shift would ever end. The fact that he had only arrived for the shift an hour earlier made him even more miserable.<p>

Chet sauntered into the day room. Johnny purposely looked the other way, hoping that the other man would leave him alone.

"So, John, how about a game of cards?"

Johnny sighed. "No, thanks."

Chet pulled out the chair next to his. "Tough day already, huh?"

"What would you know about it?" Johnny replied shortly.

Chet pushed his chair back. "Just making conversation, pal," he said a trifle testily.

"Well, make it with someone else."

"Whatever you want." Chet got up and went to the stove to pour himself a cup of coffee. He continued to watch Gage.

"So what's eating you?" Chet asked after taking a sip of his coffee. "You should be feeling better. One of the guys was caught, and—"

Johnny stood up with such force his chair fell backward. He rushed at Chet and grabbed his shirt with both hands. The coffee spilled, splashing both men.

Chet pulled away from Johnny. "What the hell's the matter with you?" he shouted, quickly setting the coffee on the counter and beginning to unbutton his shirt.

"Leave me alone!" Johnny snapped, oblivious to the hot coffee that covered his chest and abdomen. "All you have to do is leave me alone, if you can manage that!" He spun on his heel and pushed his way past Roy, Marco, and Mike.

Roy went to Chet. "Let's take a look at that burn," he said, watching as Chet pulled his tee shirt over his head.

"Oh, it's nothing," Chet replied. "But Johnny…I don't know about him."

"What'd you say to him?" Marco asked.

Chet spread his arms. "Nothing! I just asked what was bothering him, that's all! I don't know why he got so mad."

"He's been through a lot," Mike supplied.

"Well, that doesn't give him the right to jump all over me," Chet said. "I'm gonna go change."

Roy stopped him. "Let me make sure Johnny's not in the locker room, okay? Just give me a minute."

Chet nodded. "Sure, Roy. Go check on him."

Roy found Johnny sitting in front of his locker, his uniform shirt and tee shirt lying in a bundle on the floor. Roy stepped over the bench and sat next to Johnny.

"You want to talk about it?"

Johnny buried his head in his hands. "Y'know, Roy, I'm getting real sick of hearing that."

"We're just trying to help."

"Well, I don't want your help." Johnny stood up and pulled a fresh tee shirt from his locker. "I don't need your help, so just leave me alone."

"Is that why you showed up at my house last night?"

John flinched and started to say something, but caught himself.

"Why'd you jump Chet?"

Johnny stopped what he was doing. "Don't you understand English? Leave me alone!"

He finished changing in silence, and Roy finally left the room.

* * *

><p>Johnny got through the morning by avoiding the others as much as possible. When on a run, he performed on autopilot, carrying out his duties with as little interaction with Roy as possible. Once, he slipped. A distraught man, near tears over his wife's entrapment in a car, turned on Johnny and grabbed him by the arm. Johnny threw off the man's hand with a panicked cry and retreated several feet before regaining control, an action that was witnessed by all five members of Station 51.<p>

Johnny had dealt with his embarrassment as well as he could, but the knowledge that he was cracking up under the watchful eye of his co-workers drove him ever deeper into the shell that he had produced. At lunch he ate quickly and silently, retreating to the parking area behind the station as soon as he finished. He got a cigarette from his Rover and rapidly smoked it, knowing that his fear of exposure was irrational and yet unwilling to let the others know of his habit.

The sound of the door opening sent him into a frantic attempt to get rid of the cigarette. He dropped it and mashed it under his foot, then looked to see who was coming.

Chet walked toward him. He seemed hesitant, as if afraid of what Johnny's reaction would be.

"John, Cap wants to see you in his office," Chet said, watching Johnny's face closely.

"Okay." Johnny waited for Chet to turn away, then he quickly scraped the cigarette under the Rover.

Hank smiled as Johnny came into the office. "Close the door," he instructed.

Johnny did so, then waited, hoping his face didn't look as frightened as he felt. _He's gonna suspend me again._

"John, are you still seeing Dr. Driscoll?" Hank asked without preamble.

"Uh…Dr. Driscoll…" Johnny stumbled, completely unprepared. "Uh, no."

"Well, I think that it might be a good idea for you to go back. You know, just to make sure your head is clear."

"Uh, okay. If you want me to."

"Well, it's not that I want you to, but I think that you've got some things to discuss with him."

Hank went to the chair that sat next to John's and pulled it so that it faced the paramedic. He then sat down.

"John, I'd like to talk to you about something. Now, you can tell me that it's none of my business and I'll leave it alone, but I'd really like you to hear what I've got to say."

Johnny swallowed hard. "What?" he asked.

Hank lowered his head, collecting his thoughts, then began speaking without looking at John. "I have a younger sister, Lorraine. I've probably mentioned her. Growing up, we were very close, but we have a stronger bond now because of something that happened to her." He paused. "About eight years ago, my sister was raped. She was home alone and an intruder broke in and attacked her. He was never caught. For a long time after the rape, Lorraine had a difficult time. She wasn't married, so she kind of turned to me for support. We spent many hours just talking, but it was a very, very difficult time for her. She couldn't sleep. She couldn't eat. She was afraid of everything. She wouldn't leave the house, and when she was in the house she locked every door and window." For the first time Hank looked up and met John's eyes. "Johnny, I've seen the same symptoms in you. I know that it's not exactly the same thing, but those men raped you."

Johnny flinched at the word. Rape! No…how could a man be raped? He brought his hands to his face. "Cap…I…" What to say? Rape…

Hank sighed. "Maybe if you can recognize what happened, you'll be able to finally get past it. Maybe if you know that I understand."

Johnny's breath caught. He felt a sudden kinship with his captain, a bond beyond the already strong relationship.

Hank went on. "I can't know what it was like for you, but I know from Lorraine's experience that you need support and help. I want you to know that I'm here for you. And so are the guys. You need to let them help you. They want to, you know. They just don't know exactly how."

"Cap…I didn't…I mean…" He struggled to find the words. "They forced me…I didn't…"

Hank raised his hand. "I know. And the guys know it, too. I guess…well, with Lorraine, I went through a stage where I thought she should have done more to prevent the rape. But I know that she didn't do anything wrong." He leaned closer to John. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Johnny felt tears well in his eyes, and it was with tremendous relief that he watched Hank get up and walk to the door.

"Take a few minutes," Hank said without looking back. "I'll close the door."


	8. Chapter 8

"John, it's good to see you again. I understand that your captain wants you to continue coming."

"Yeah. I kinda screwed up," Johnny admitted.

"At work?"

"Well, that's why I'm here, but—"

"What?" Driscoll prodded.

Johnny jumped to his feet. "Uh, well, I had a talk with Cap, and he said something that…that scares me."

"What was it?"

The paramedic paced the room, knowing what he wanted to say but finding it so difficult to say the word. "Doc…uh…" He stopped in the farthest corner, physically as far away from Driscoll as he could get. "Doc…was I…uh…raped?"

Driscoll took a deep breath. "Is that what your captain said?"

"Yeah. His sister was raped, and he said that he recognized the same symptoms in me." As he spoke, Johnny pressed even farther into the corner. "Is it true? That I was—that that happened to me?

Driscoll spoke slowly and very deliberately. "John, although the term 'rape' is generally used in conjunction with a male forcing sexual intercourse with a woman, I would agree with your captain that the term does describe what happened to you."

Johnny felt his chest tighten. "I can't believe it. I mean, it's not possible. How…" He ran his hand through his hair. "How could they…"

"John, when a woman is raped, her autonomy is taken from her. She is forced into an act that violates her physically and emotionally. This is exactly what happened to you. Even though it was an action that didn't follow the exact formula for what we think of as a rape, the end result is the same. You were forced to engage in actions that violated you physically and emotionally."

Johnny was shaking his head. "No…I don't believe it. I'm not…" He choked over a sob. "It's not the same. Men don't get…I wasn't…I was just beat up, that's all. Nothing more."

"John, you know that it was more than getting beat up. But it doesn't make you less of a man. You had all control taken from you. Those men had the power to do whatever they wanted to do. And unfortunately they chose a sexual assault. In a way, they chose the most humiliating attack possible. They were trying to take away your manhood. But if you can recognize this, then you can beat it."

Johnny slowly regained his composure as Driscoll spoke. He went back to his chair and sat down.

"Do you understand what I'm saying, John?"

He shrugged. "Yes. No. Whatever." I've gotta get out of here. "Isn't time about up?" he asked, glancing at his watch.

"No, we've got more time."

Johnny sighed. Driscoll remained silent, and John found his thoughts wandering.

_Tonight. The pipe. The baggy. At least two beers in the fridge. Sitting on the couch with the pipe in easy reach. Getting high on pot. Not enough beer to get drunk, but the liquor store was just a few blocks out of the way. On the way home he'd stop for some whiskey. The black book. Who was it…Larry? He can get the good stuff…the hard stuff…the real high…_

He jumped up, tortured by his own thoughts, very aware of Driscoll's watching. Pacing the small room, he thrust his hands into his pockets in order to keep them still, desperately needing to talk but petrified of what he would say.

"What are you thinking, John?"

"I'm losing my mind, Doc!" he exclaimed. "I keep doing things…" He again stopped, fighting to keep his composure. "I don't know…I can't talk about…I could lose my job."

"Anything you say in here is confidential, John," Driscoll reminded him. "You can tell me anything."

Johnny whirled on him. "Do you want to hear everything? Do you want to hear about how I've been smoking weed every night? Is that bad enough for you? And you should see the whiskey…I just got a bottle and it's gone…I drank it all and I don't even remember how I drank it! I don't remember, Doc! Is that bad enough? But there's more! I know a guy who can get me…" He stopped, fearful of what he was about to say. "I know a guy who can get me heroin," he blurted. "I have his number, and I want to call him…every night I find a reason to not call, but…" His voice broke. "What am I doing to myself, Doc? Why am I doing these things that I know are wrong? It's like…" He struggled to keep talking. "Doc, it's like I'm losing my mind…I feel like I've lost my mind!"

"John, let me make one thing very clear. You have not lost your mind. You are confused right now, and you're acting out, but every reaction you've had is very normal."

Johnny smirked at him. "I'm an LA firefighter and paramedic," he needlessly reminded the counselor. "I'll lose my job if they find out what I've been doing."

"The only thing you've done that could endanger your job is buying and smoking pot, and at this point I'm not going to turn you in. Heroin, on the other hand, is not only illegal but very dangerous, and I would caution you to think very carefully before using it."

"So at what point am I busted?" Johnny asked mirthlessly. "When I show up at the station high? How about a high rise rescue after I've smoked a joint? Would that be enough to cause you to go to my captain?"

Driscoll shook his head. "You can't depend on me to tell you how to behave. You know the standards that you need to follow. Because of your trauma you have relaxed your standards while in the safety of your apartment, but you have shown enough fortitude to remain professional at work. I expect that you will continue to use proper judgment when dealing with the public, but like I said, I can't tell you how to behave at home. That is something that you need to control yourself."

"So why am I here, then?" Johnny replied bitterly. "I mean, my life's falling apart, and you're not helping me."

"I think that I am helping you discover your inner strengths. You have endured a tremendous trauma, and yes, you are having difficulties. The drinking and drugs are attempts you have chosen to deal with the problem. They are not the best ways of coping, but they indicate a desire to beat this problem. What I am going to suggest is that you face the assault head on. Stop trying to forget it. That's why you're drinking. You're pushing the assault away. Once you face it, and I mean completely face it, you'll be able to cope without the alcohol and marijuana."

"What if I don't want to face it?" Johnny's gaze met the psychologist's, and all of the pain that he had endured seemed to pool in his eyes. "What if I just want it all to go away?"

Driscoll's face conveyed a deep sympathy. "It won't go away, John. I'm so sorry that you have to go through this, but it's the only way you'll ever have peace. You've got to face what happened."

John considered Driscoll's words. "Well, then, I guess I'm on the road to hell, because I'm not gonna face it. There's nothing to face."

"John—"

"No." Johnny went to the door. "It's over, Doc."

"I want you to come back on Friday."

"Twice in one week?" Johnny chuckled. "Man, you must really think I'm in bad shape." He left the office.

* * *

><p>Roy jerked awake, then reached for the phone. A glance at the clock radio brought a muted curse to his lips.<p>

"Hello?" he said gruffly.

"Roy?" Johnny's voice greeted him. "Uh—can you come over?"

"Now? Johnny, it's three in the morning."

"I know." Roy could hear a quiver in his friend's voice, and he listened more carefully. "I just need you to come over. Please."

"Okay. I'll be over in a couple minutes."

"Please hurry, Roy."

A new possibility occurred to Roy. "Are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance?"

"No, nothing like that. I just need you to come over quickly."

"I'll be right over." Roy hung up the phone and pulled on his clothes. What was going on?

* * *

><p>Johnny wandered his apartment, pausing every minute or so to listen intently by the door. He pointedly avoided looking in the direction of his kitchen table.<p>

At last a soft knock at the door announced Roy's arrival. Johnny dashed for the door and let him in.

"Roy. Come in."

The older man stepped in, looking around for some clue for why he had been called over. The apartment was untidy, as usual, with several beer cans littering the coffee table. A haze of cigarette smoke filled the rooms, and the ashtray was filled with butts.

Johnny pulled a cigarette from the pack and lit it while Roy waited. He knew that he needed to explain himself, but his courage was beginning to fail him.

"I got here as fast as I could," Roy finally said.

"I appreciate it," John acknowledged, nervously taking a drag on his cigarette.

"So what's going on?"

"Uh…I want you to…" Johnny ran his hand through his hair, then pointed at the kitchen table. "Those things on the table. I want you to throw them away. Please." He backed away from the table as though afraid of what lay on it.

Roy looked at the table, moved closer, then nearly gasped. A filled syringe and a rubber strap lay side by side. Roy swallowed, then turned to face Johnny.

"What's in the syringe?" he asked flatly.

Johnny looked up from the corner into which he had flattened himself. "I—uh—"

"Is it heroin?" Roy broke in.

Johnny nodded.

"Did you use any?"

John found his voice. "No!"

Roy picked up the syringe and strap. "Johnny…why? What are you thinking?"

The dark haired man was shaking his head. "Roy, throw them away! Get rid of them before—"

"Before what? Before you use it?" Roy thrust the items at Johnny. "What is this, Johnny? What's going on with you? Don't you care about your job…your life? How can you do this to yourself?"

"I told you I didn't use it!" Johnny cried.

"Why do you have it in the first place?" Roy shot back. "You know better! You see overdoses all the time. How can you even consider using this stuff?"

Johnny didn't answer. Instead he slid down the wall, his face twisted as he struggled to keep from breaking down.

Roy waited, his chest heaving as he attempted to regain his composure. When he spoke, it was with a heavily controlled voice.

"Johnny, please…please stop and think before you use that stuff. I…I know that you've been through hell, but please think. This stuff will ruin everything you've worked so hard for. Don't throw it all away. Fight it. You're too good to throw everything away."

"Roy…" The single word slipped past a sob. "I don't want to use it. I don't know why I bought it." Johnny wiped his face. "I feel so bad."

Roy placed the syringe and strap in his pocket. "I'm gonna throw these away. And then that'll be the end of it. Okay?"

Johnny looked up at Roy. "I don't know…"

"Johnny, you can't use this stuff."

"I know, but…"

"What?" Roy knelt before John. "What's wrong?"

"I just can't believe that this has happened."

The enormity of the situation caused both men to pause. It was Johnny who finally broke the reverie.

"I'm sorry, Roy. For all of this. I'm sorry I called you out here, and I'm sorry I bought that stuff. I don't know why I'm doing this."

"Well, you can stop right now." Roy patted his pocket. "I'll get rid of this, and you can forget it ever happened. It's over now."

_It's not over._ "I wish it was over. I don't know…" John pulled himself to his feet and moved to the couch. "Things are happening," he went on in a small voice, "and I don't think that I'm in control anymore. I can't seem to do what I want to do. It's like I don't have any control."

Roy cautiously sat next to him. "Well, you did lose control for a little while. But you're strong. I know you can beat this. And pretty soon you'll look back on this and know that you beat it."

Johnny shrugged. "I don't know anymore, Roy. I mean, if you'd asked me before all of this if I'd be sitting here tonight with—that drug—well, I'd have told you you were crazy."

"You slipped. It's okay, though. You didn't use it, and everything's okay."

_You really want to believe that, don't you partner? I can see it in your face. You're scared out of your mind that I'm not going to make it._ "Roy, I'm not sure that—that everything's okay."

"Sure it is! You're gonna beat this, Johnny. I'll help you all the way."

Johnny impatiently sprang from the couch. "Roy, you're not listening to me!" he exclaimed, beginning to pace the living room. "I'm not so sure that I can beat this! I don't know myself anymore! Everything's changed, but you don't want to see it!"

Roy also got up. "But I'll help you! I promise—"

"No! You can't promise me! You can't save me! You couldn't save me at the bar and you can't save me now!"

Roy's mouth dropped open, and Johnny felt his gut wrench at the stricken expression on his friend's face. "Roy, I didn't mean that."

But Roy had already turned for the door. "You're right, Johnny," he said, his voice thick. "I didn't save you before, and I'm just hurting you more by trying to help you now. I'm sorry." The door closed before Johnny could say any more.

"Roy…" Johnny started to go to the door, stopped, then stood, his head lowered in abject defeat.

* * *

><p>Roy closed the bedroom door as quietly as possible, but he knew immediately that Joanne was awake and waiting for him.<p>

"Well?"

"It was Johnny. He wanted me to sit with him for awhile."

"And…?"

Roy dropped his shirt onto the floor. "And nothing. I sat with him, and here I am."

"Roy, this can't go on. You're driving yourself into exhaustion. You can't run over there in the middle of the night."

"Yes I can," Roy snapped. He took off his pants and sat on the edge of the bed. "I have to," he went on softly.

"Why?"

Roy suddenly realized that he couldn't talk. He struggled to keep his constricted throat quiet, but Joanne knew him too well, and he felt her arms wrap around him.

"It's okay," she whispered in his ear. "I shouldn't have fussed. But you're tearing yourself up over this, and it wasn't your fault."

Roy furiously turned toward her. "Wasn't it?" he hissed. "What did I do to help him? Nothing! I could've used the fire extinguisher, but I didn't. I could've tried harder to get to him, but I didn't! And do you know why? Do you want to know the real reason why I let my best friend get assaulted? Because I was too scared, that's why! I was too scared to help him, and now look at him! Do you know why he called me over tonight? Because he had heroin, and he wanted me to stop him from using it! Do you have any idea what kind of a lowdown son of a bitch that makes me? It's all my fault! I let him down, Joanne! He was counting on me to help him, and I let him down!"

Joanne shook her head. "Roy, it wasn't your fault! Honey, you can't blame yourself for what happened! You could have been assaulted or killed if you'd gone back in there!"

"Yeah, I'm a real hero, saving myself while my partner is nearly killed." Roy wrenched from Joanne's grasp and took several steps away from the bed, from his wife. "I can't stand what I've done to him," he said in a low voice.

Joanne stood up but didn't approach Roy. "You didn't hurt him," she said flatly. "You helped him as soon as you could. And tonight, you didn't make him get heroin. He did that on his own. I am so sorry about what happened to him, but I refuse to allow you to take the blame for it." She slowly moved closer to him. "Don't destroy yourself over this. I think that you were injured just as much as Johnny was, but your injuries are on the inside, and nobody can see them. Nobody except me." She tentatively reached for her husband, clasping his arm with both of her hands. "I can see what this has done to you, and I want you to know that I love you. No matter what harm you think you did, I love you more than anything. Can you accept that?"

Roy looked down at his wife, felt her touch, and then collapsed into her, his shoulders convulsing as he sobbed.

* * *

><p>Johnny stepped into his apartment, then closed and locked his door. He had managed to wait nearly an hour after Roy's departure, but the black thoughts gave him no peace, and he had finally given in to them. He had no recollection of the drive, and he barely remembered passing the money into the waiting hands of the dealer. But he vividly recalled the feel of the paper bag. He had taken the bag without looking inside, knowing what nestled inside but not wanting to see it until absolutely necessary.<p>

This time he would make no desperate phone call. This time he would not stop.

He set the bag onto the coffee table, then, lighting a cigarette, sat on the couch and stared at the brown bag.

The thoughts pummeled him. Again and again, making him dizzy with their intensity. The forbidden, the wrong, so tantalizing. He felt high already.

He snubbed out the cigarette and nonchalantly opened the bag. Reaching in without looking, he first pulled out the strap and dropped it on the table. Then the syringe. He stared at it, imagining the sharp prick that he would feel, the sensation of a foreign body invading his vein, creating the venue for his horrid adventure. Finally he pulled out the tiny bottle with the clear liquid.

Heroin. Unless told what it was, or recognized by its surrounding paraphernalia, it appeared to be harmless, like water. He nearly grinned as he thought about it. A harmless liquid, he could tell someone. See? Nothing to it. But as soon as it was drawn up into the syringe, its trappings fell away, and its true nature was revealed. _Just like me. No one ever knew how bad I was. What would they say if they could see me now?_

He picked up the strap and automatically wrapped it around his upper arm. _Stop!_ Making a fist, he easily brought up a vein. _How many times have I done this for a patient? How many times have I helped someone? But I can't help myself._ He removed the cap from the needle and stared at the point. _How can I do this to myself?_ Taking a deep breath, he placed the tip of the needle against his skin, then smoothly pushed it into his vein. _Why?_ He released the strap, allowing it to fall to the floor. _Stop this!_ With his thumb, he pushed the plunger. _Help me, Roy!_ He quickly withdrew the needle, then also dropped it to the floor. _What have I done?_ He backed until he felt the couch against his legs, then he fell onto the cushion. _What am I gonna do?_He waited, petrified, for the drug to take effect, and then suddenly he didn't care anymore…


	9. Chapter 9

He had determined to skip his appointment with Dr. Driscoll, but something made him climb into the Rover and drive to the office at the appointed time.

He sat in the waiting room, perched on the edge of his seat, aware of the glances he was receiving from an older woman also waiting. Every minute or so he sprang to his feet and paced the room for a moment before returning to his seat in preparation for his next manic tour.

At last Dr. Driscoll opened the door, and Johnny was able to escape the scrutiny.

"Sorry I kept you waiting, John," Driscoll began, taking his customary seat.

"It's okay." Johnny tried to sit, but his waiting room act had invited itself into the office, and he was quickly engaged in his pacing.

"What's up?" Driscoll questioned, craning his neck to follow his patient around the room.

Johnny paused long enough to look at the doctor. "Just the usual."

"And that would be…?"

"I screwed up again."

"Tell me about it."

"No…I can't." Johnny settled on the edge of his seat for a moment. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Why not?"

"Because…" John groped for the correct word. "Because it's too…too bad. Too terrible."

"Is this something that I would perceive as terrible?"

Johnny pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "Yeah," he finally answered.

"John, you're obviously upset by what you've done. I'd like to help you, but you've got to share with me." Driscoll leaned forward. "Will you?"

"I don't know." Johnny managed to stay in his seat for a few minutes, nervously smoking and bouncing his leg. "Doc…?"

"Yes?"

Johnny jumped up and began his pacing again. "I'm not the same anymore, Doc. Everything's changed. I've done things that I never dreamed I'd ever do. And I can't ever go back."

"What's changed?"

John returned to his seat, where he sat with his head bowed. "Doc…I…I used heroin. I didn't want to, but I did. I bought it and I sat on my couch and got high on heroin."

Dr. Driscoll frowned. "Why did you use the heroin, John?"

Johnny met Driscoll's eyes. "Because I want to be bad," he stated.

Driscoll's eyebrows raised despite his efforts to prevent it. "Why?"

"Because…" Johnny hesitated, staring at his cigarette. "Because I am," he finished simply.

"You believe that you're bad?"

"I am. Dirty. Ugly."

"Because…"

"I'm not worth helping. He left me again. There's a reason for that. I'm not worth saving. And I don't care anymore." Johnny finished his cigarette and crushed it in the ashtray. "I'm not coming back here. I'm not going back to work, either."

"So what are you going to do?"

Johnny fished another cigarette from his pocket. He lit it, then lifted empty eyes to Driscoll.

"Nothing," he mumbled. "Maybe I'll be raped again."

Driscoll couldn't hide his shock. "Why would you say something like that?"

"Why?" Johnny stared at the ceiling, studying the patterns of smoke. "Well, why shouldn't I be raped again?"

"Because you don't deserve that!" Driscoll replied passionately. "Don't let them win, John. They took a great deal from you, but you can beat them. I know you can!" He searched John's face.

But Johnny merely sat in the chair, smoking with a hand that trembled, staring with an expression that was too studied, too calm, too frightening.

Driscoll ended the session early when his patient refused to say anything more, and as John walked to his Rover, the psychologist stared at the notes that he had written, wondering if he was ever going to break through the wall of disbelief that had been so carefully constructed.

* * *

><p>Dr. Brackett watched with surprise as Vince walked through the emergency room doors leading an unsteady Johnny with him. A nurse met the pair, and after exchanging a few words, took John to Exam Two.<p>

"What's going on, Vince?"

The policeman glanced around, then guided Dr. Brackett to a quiet corner. "I've been following a guy who deals heroin. Tonight I finally busted him." He once again looked around. "Doc, John was with him."

Brackett's eyebrows rose. "Well, that's a bit unsettling, but I still don't know why Johnny's here."

Vince hesitated. "The dealer and some other guys were arrested for possession. There were a lot of people around, and most were either shooting up or buying heroin. John was in the middle of all that."

"Wait a minute, Vince. Did you find any heroin on Johnny? Did you see him using any?"

"No, I didn't, but why else would he be there?"

Brackett's normal reserve slipped. "There has to be another reason! Did you ask him why he was there?"

Vince gave the doctor a hard look. "Yes I did. And he couldn't answer me. He was too busy pulling his sleeves down."

"Damn." Brackett rubbed the back of his neck. "As if he hasn't been through enough already…"

"Man, I'm sorry. But the only reason that I didn't take him to the station was because I know what he's gone through. I know he needs help."

The policeman left, and Brackett stood outside the exam room, dreading the duty he faced on the other side of the door.

He found Johnny sitting on the exam table, his arms wrapped around his torso. Hair in disarray, his clothes wrinkled, and his eyes lowered, the young man seemed to be a totally different person.

"Johnny, how're you feeling?"

"Hey, Doc. I'm okay."

"That's good to hear. Vince was kind of concerned about you."

"Yeah, I guess." Johnny glanced up at Brackett. "So how about letting me out of here?"

"Not so fast," Brackett replied. "I'd like to check you over. You don't look too hot."

"I'm just a little run down." Johnny tried to scoot off the exam table, but Brackett's firm hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Hold on, mister, I need to check you out."

"I told you I'm fine!" the paramedic protested too strongly. "I just need to go home, that's all."

Brackett took a deep breath. "Johnny, Vince says you were with a heroin dealer. He says that there were others around shooting up. I want you to level with me. Did you take something?"

"What? Did I take something?" John hazarded a glance at the doctor. "What are you talking about?"

"Did you use heroin, Johnny?"

"No! No, of course not!" Johnny managed to jump from the table. "I can't believe you're asking me this!"

"Look at me, Johnny."

The younger man flicked his eyes up, then back down. "What is this, Doc?"

"Let me see your eyes."

"Oh, man, this is too much," John exclaimed, avoiding the doctor's gaze.

"All right, then, let me draw blood," Brackett challenged.

"Man, I really cannot believe this!" Johnny headed for the door. "This is way too much!"

"Can I see your arms?" Brackett called after him.

John whirled on him. "I'm not a junkie," he stated, his face red.

"Just let me see your arms."

"This is ridiculous! Why would Vince say something like that about me?" John stood at the door, desperate to push his way through but still held by the doctor's presence.

"Maybe because he cares about you. Maybe because he doesn't want to see you go down a path that you don't want to be on." Brackett took a tentative step toward his friend. "Maybe because he knows what you've been through, and he knows that drugs can seem like an easy escape."

The implications of Brackett's words swirled around Johnny's head, pushing the haze and the guilt and the shame away, and he abruptly realized that he had been caught. With downcast eyes he returned to the table and rolled up his sleeves, revealing the newly marred skin over the veins in both arms.

Brackett sighed. "How long have you been…"

"Two weeks," Johnny whispered.

"Oh, Johnny." Brackett paused, then asked the dreaded question. "I've got to know. Did you shoot up before Vince got there?"

John lowered his head, then nodded.

Brackett rubbed his chin. "Johnny, you do realize that I've got to report this."

"I know."

The doctor leaned toward his friend, his hand raised to pat John on the shoulder, but he quickly withdrew it and instead left the room.

Johnny never looked up.

* * *

><p>Dr. Morton yawned as he picked up the chart and stepped toward Exam Two. His shift was nearly over, and he couldn't wait to get out of Rampart. Too many loonies and malingerers had driven him over his short temper, and now he was about to inform another loser that his drug test had come back positive.<p>

"Try to do someone a favor, and this is what I get," he grumbled to himself, wishing he had grabbed another chart. With a frustrated sigh, he pushed open the door.

"Gage?" Morton stopped cold at sight of the bedraggled figure that huddled on the table in Exam Two. He looked down at the chart and for the first time saw the patient's name: John Gage.

"Uh, this must be a mistake," Morton said, scanning the chart. "A drug test? Gage, what's going on?"

"Didn't Brackett tell you?" Johnny replied quietly.

"I haven't seen Dr. Brackett," Morton informed him. "In fact, I was trying to help him out by taking a few of his charts. I sure didn't expect to find you in here, and for a drug test."

"So what's the result?" Johnny asked.

Morton once again perused the chart. "Gage, this doesn't make any sense. According to this, you've tested positive for heroin."

"Oh. Big surprise."

"Big surprise!" Morton approached the paramedic. "You don't sound very surprised. Are you telling me that this isn't some mistake?"

"It's no mistake," John said, raising his eyes to Morton's.

Morton stared at Johnny, his face growing darker with every loaded moment. At last he turned and slammed the chart down on the counter, then whirled back on the hushed patient.

"What kind of a fool have you become, Gage?" he shouted. "Of all the stupid, asinine stunts to pull, this one beats all! What in the hell were you thinking when you injected heroin into your veins? Or were you thinking at all? Does your career mean nothing to you? All your hard work? I just don't get you at all! Yes, you have gone through a terrible ordeal, and yes, you're hurting, but you don't throw it all away for a temporary high!"

He stepped up to Johnny, who had not moved a muscle during the tirade. "Listen to me, John. Listen!" He seized Johnny's arm and roughly shoved up the sleeve. "Look at that! Those marks represent your giving up! That's not the John Gage I know. The John Gage I know would fight with everything he has against this. The John Gage I know would never give in to drugs! Fight back, man! Fight hard! Because if you don't, you're gonna end up in some alley, pushing needles into your legs because your arms are gonna blow out. Don't let those bastards win, John!" He dropped Johnny's arm and waited.

Johnny sniffed, then wiped his nose. "I've…tried, but—"

Morton cut him off. "Don't feed me that shit! Don't even try it. You need to try harder. You need to succeed. There is no other choice."

"It's not that easy!" John responded.

"Nobody said it would be easy. Nobody said getting over what happened to you would be simple. But the minute you injected that drug into your body, you gave up. You betrayed yourself, and you betrayed all of your friends who have stood by you."

"Maybe they betrayed me," Johnny muttered.

Morton slapped the table next to John. "No! I won't accept that! I've seen Roy come in here, and I'm telling you, the man has aged ten years! He has worried himself sick over you, so don't you tell me that he betrayed you, because I won't accept it."

"Just leave me alone, okay?" John twisted away from the doctor, stifling a yawn.

"What's the matter? The heroin kicking in? Getting sleepy? Yeah, you're a classic junkie, Gage."

"Kiss my ass."

"What you need is a good kick in the ass," Morton shot back. "Look, I don't enjoy getting tough with you, but I don't want to see this happen to you. I care about you. We all do."

"I don't want to talk about it anymore! Just leave me alone!"

"You can't run away from it! Take responsibility for what you've done, man! Put your life back together!"

Johnny jumped from the table. "I told you I don't want to talk about it!" he shouted in Morton's face.

"You're not going anywhere!" Morton retorted, grabbing John's arm.

Johnny jerked away, then swung at the doctor's head. Morton blocked the punch, but then received a blow to his midsection.

"Damn it, Gage, knock it off!" Morton wrestled Johnny backward and pinned him to the table. "Now stop it!"

"What's going on in here!" Brackett barked from the door.

"Gage is acting the fool," Morton supplied, slightly out of breath.

"Let me go!" Johnny spat, powerless on his back.

"Let him up, Mike," Brackett said.

"Fine. Maybe you can deal with him, because I don't know what to do for him anymore."

"Just go, Mike. I've got it."

The doctor backed away from Gage, then, muttering under his breath, left the exam room. Brackett waited a moment for Johnny to gather himself, standing with his arms folded and his face grim.

"Well, Johnny?"

John glared at him. "Well, what? He came in here and started badgering me. What am I supposed to do, just sit by and take it?"

"Well, Mike can be a little harsh at times, but in your case it's because he cares about you."

"Yeah, I keep hearing that," John said sarcastically. "I just don't know if I believe it."

"You should believe it, because it's the truth. Everybody has been pulling for you since this whole ordeal began."

"Whatever." John gestured toward the chart. "Morton already gave me the bad news."

Brackett turned and retrieved the chart. "I'm sorry it's turned out this way, Johnny. I truly am. But we'll help you through this."

"Save your effort," John said. "It's not worth it."

Brackett stared at his friend, and wondered if he was right.

* * *

><p>The minute Roy saw Brice in the locker room he knew that Johnny had slipped. Nodding at the replacement paramedic, he nearly ran for Cap's office.<p>

"Where's Johnny?" he asked without preamble.

Hank looked up from his desk. "Close the door," he said.

Roy did so, then waited, his heart pounding.

Hank sighed heavily. "John won't be in for awhile. He's been suspended pending a hearing." He paused, eyeing Roy closely. "I have a feeling you already know what happened," he remarked.

"I have a pretty good idea, but I'd give anything to be wrong."

Hank rubbed his eyes. "This is the worst part of being a captain," he mumbled. "You grow to love your men as though they are your sons, and then something like this happens."

"He used heroin, didn't he?"

Hank didn't answer verbally. Instead he nodded as though he were extremely tired.

Roy found the chair and fell into it. "I should've tried harder. He was asking me for help, and I didn't do enough."

"Roy—"

"No!" Roy got back to his feet. "I blew it! I might as well be suspended along with him, because this is my fault."

Hank also stood up. "You're being way too hard on yourself, Roy!"

"Am I?" Roy leaned forward. "Who stood outside that bar and listened to his best friend scream? Who stood there and did nothing because he was too busy saving his own ass?" Roy's face grew darker. "Do you know how I knew about the heroin?" he asked savagely. "Because he called me over to his apartment one night and asked me to take it away from him! And instead of insisting—_insisting_ that he get some help, I fed him some bull about how he could beat this!"

"Roy, you did the best you could. This isn't your fault."

Roy stood before his captain, his fists clenched. "Where is he?" he asked as calmly as he could.

"Home, I believe. He won't be charged, but he goes before the committee next week."

"Cap, how bad…"

Hank pursed his lips before answering. "He could be removed from the paramedic program," he said.

Roy cursed under his breath. "This isn't right. Johnny needs help, not punishment."

"I couldn't agree more. But regulations are regulations. Maybe if we had gotten to him before he was tested, we might've been able to help him without…outside intervention." Hank wrung his hands. "But it's beyond our control now. All we can do now is offer our testimony."

Roy's chuckle was harsh. "Yeah, great. Just great. I know how much Johnny's gonna appreciate that." He left the office without another word.

* * *

><p>Roy hung up the phone and stood deep in thought. Joanne watched him, then went to him and touched his arm.<p>

"Who was it, honey?" she asked, searching her husband's face.

"Dr. Driscoll. He's Johnny's psychologist. He wants me to be part of a joint counseling session tomorrow."

"Oh." Joanne waited, watching Roy's face as it registered confusion, dismay, and finally acceptance. "So will you go?"

He looked down at her. "I have no choice. Johnny needs me."

* * *

><p>Roy sat in Dr. Driscoll's office facing an empty chair. Dr. Driscoll stood across from him.<p>

"I appreciate your coming over on such short notice, Roy."

Roy shrugged. "It's the least I can do," he said stiffly.

Driscoll studied him. "This will help at the hearing."

"Great."

"And it should help John recover."

Roy said nothing, and Driscoll sat down opposite him. "Roy, I know you're feeling guilty about all of this, but—"

"We're not here for me," Roy interrupted. "So let's get on with it."

Driscoll continued as though he had not heard Roy. "But you need to understand that John has made his own decisions. He has allowed himself to descend into behaviors that have unfortunately gotten him into trouble, but with your help we can get him back on his feet. There are a few things that I want to discuss with you first. This is going to be a difficult session for John. He has resisted facing what happened to him at the bar. Today I hope to get him talking about what happened. As you know, he has a great deal of anger and resentment toward you."

"Yeah, I know," Roy replied flatly.

"I just don't want you to take it personally. Tall order, I know, but John needs you to be the strong one today. He needs to realize that you're still his friend, even after the terrible things he has done."

Roy bristled. "You can't blame him for what happened—"

Driscoll held up his hands. "No, I'm not blaming him. He believes that he has done terrible things, and he blames you and himself. We need to get him to accept that yes, he fell, but he can still recover. To get him to that point, he needs to face the assault…and your failure."

Roy flinched. "My failure," he repeated softly.

"Whether real or not, it doesn't matter now. What does matter is that John must work through the events and his feelings about them. Some of these feelings are going to hurt you, but I suspect that your friendship will sustain both of you in the end."

Driscoll paused and looked at Roy. He looked vaguely frightened. "It's going to be all right," the psychologist told him. "Just remember that John needs you."

Roy straightened his shoulders. "I'm ready," he said.

Driscoll went to the door and beckoned. "John? Come on in."

Johnny slipped into the room and sank into the empty chair. He slouched with his head bowed and his hands clasped.

Driscoll took his position against the wall where he could observe the interplay between the two men. "John, I've explained the format to Roy, and I think that we're ready to begin. We're going to go back to that night in the bar. Remember that you're going to speak directly to Roy. You're going to tell him exactly how you felt that night. When we're done, both of you should have a better understanding of what happened and how John has attempted to cope with it." He turned to Johnny. "Are you ready?" he asked.

Johnny shrugged. "Doc, I don't know if I can do this."

"I know you're not sure about this, John, but you know that you want to get better. I believe that this is the way to do just that." Driscoll smiled. "This is your time. Roy is here for you."

Johnny rubbed his eyes, then took a cigarette from his pocket to try to stall. He could sense Roy's scrutiny, and he knew that his friend was at least as uncomfortable as he was.

"What are you thinking, John?" Driscoll's voice interrupted his musings.

"Um, I'm thinking that I don't want to be here. And I don't think Roy wants to be either."

"Talk directly to him, John."

Johnny sighed. "I'm sorry to make you go through this."

"You didn't do anything wrong," Roy replied.

John processed Roy's response for a moment. "Maybe not at first…but now I am."

"What are you doing wrong, John?" Driscoll interspersed.

"You know."

"Tell Roy."

"He knows, too. I don't want to talk about it."

"Why did you use the heroin?"

Johnny glared at Driscoll. "You just don't quit, do you?"

"Not when it's important," the psychologist replied. "So explain to Roy why you used the heroin."

"I—I guess because I'm bad, so I should act like it. I don't want to believe that it happened."

Johnny forced himself to breathe deeply. "I can't believe it."

"What happened, John?"

"Well, the bar."

"What happened in the bar?"

Johnny shifted his feet. "I was…assaulted."

"Is that all?"

"Oh, man…" I can't do this. I can't do this…

"John, tell Roy how you felt at the bar."

"I can't."

"Talk to Roy. Tell him how you felt at the bar."

Johnny lifted his clasped hands to his face. "I was scared," he whispered from behind his hands. "I didn't know what to do. I wanted…I wanted you to help me." He dropped his hands into his lap, his fingers intertwined so tight that his knuckles gleamed white. "Roy, you left me. You abandoned me in that bar." He dared to look up at his friend, fearful of what he would say, but Roy's face remained impassive. "I know that it's not true, but—"

"John, don't worry about that," Driscoll broke in. "Just tell him what you were thinking."

Johnny took a deep breath, then glanced at the man facing him. His friend. His partner. Sitting silent but with an expression that bespoke deep suffering.

"Okay…I felt like you had left me to that mob. I felt like…I couldn't believe that you weren't coming back for me."

"Go on, John," Driscoll gently prodded.

"I was so…scared. I…they hurt me so badly." Johnny paused and rubbed his eyes. "They held me down and I couldn't move, and I just wanted you to come and get me away from them, and you didn't come."

"How did you feel, John?"

Johnny looked briefly at Driscoll, then back at Roy. "I…I was so…scared. I…I wanted them to stop. I wanted Roy to help me."

"And how did you feel when he didn't help you?"

"Well, I was scared—"

"Yes, you were scared of the men attacking you, but how did you feel about Roy?"

Johnny stopped, his breaths coming faster and deeper. "I…I wanted him…to help me…I thought he would come…but he didn't."

"How did that make you feel?" Driscoll asked again, more forcefully.

John paused again, tormented by Driscoll as much as by the memories. "I…was angry..." he finally managed. "He didn't come…"

"You were angry? How angry?"

"I…well, angry. I…"

Driscoll dug deeper. "You were being violated by several men, John. They were holding you over a pool table and assaulting you. They forced you into oral sex. They raped you, John. They took everything away from you, and Roy didn't come to help you. How angry were you? How did you feel?"

Johnny's face turned red, and he raised clenched fists. "Where were you!" he shouted at Roy. "Why didn't you help me? They hurt me…my God, they hurt me so bad! I called you…why didn't you come?" He stood up and took a step toward Roy, gesturing with balled fists. "You left me to them! You fucking left me! Why didn't you come after me? It was too late when you finally got to me. They'd already hurt me! Didn't you hear me? I called you but you didn't come to help me!"

He suddenly dropped into his chair. "Didn't you hear me?" he asked, his voice pleading. "I called you so many times and I waited so long!" His face transformed into pure fury. "I hate you for doing this to me!" he hissed. "I went through hell! And I don't want to hear your bullshit about the crowd. I don't want to hear one fucking word from you, ever!"

He shakily got to his feet and stood swaying before Roy, the fury that enveloped him making him tremble convulsively. He raised his fists, then dropped them, as though unsure of what to do, then stormed to the door, flung it open and hurled himself through.

He fled from the building despite the calls of Driscoll and Roy. Leaping into the Rover, he tore from the parking lot and sped down the street.

The memories…the horrible realization of what he had endured…he couldn't believe. And yet it had happened.

It was true.

He drove faster, driving to escape but knowing the futility of such an act.

The assault…the rape…

"No!" he shouted, slamming the steering wheel with his open hand. "I won't think about it!"

The Rover swerved as he maneuvered a corner too fast, for he drove blindly, frantically, not aware of anything beyond the intrusive memories that wouldn't leave. Once back at his apartment, he literally ran for the privacy of his rooms, not wanting anyone to see him.

As soon as he closed the door he realized that he would not stay at the apartment. Privacy…far away from anyone…somewhere to think—to face the assault.

In a matter of minutes he had packed enough camping gear for three or four days. Two trips to the Rover and he was ready. He sat in the driver's seat for a moment, a nagging thought making him pause. Call Roy. Talk to him.

"No," he said aloud. "No." He put the Rover in gear and drove from the city. He headed for his favorite hiking spot, a trip of thirty minutes. As he unloaded his gear, he could feel his intense anxiety still pulsing, and he wondered if even the haven that surrounded him would allow him to escape.

He hiked rapidly, taking little notice of his surroundings. Anger kept his mind whirling, even though he couldn't say exactly what he was angry about. He wanted to believe that he was angry with Roy, but when he tried to pinpoint the reason, he came up blank.

He reached his destination after a fast hike. His tent went up quickly, and the fire sprouted with a minimum of effort. As the sun began to dip into the western expanses of the sky, he opened a can of hash even though he wasn't especially hungry. Tomorrow he'd go fishing in the nearby lake, but tonight he wanted time to think.

A pleasantly cool breeze lifted his hair. Staring down at the unappealing hash, he suddenly found that tears had formed.

"Crybaby," he chided himself. "Nothing but a crybaby." He set the bowl down and wiped his face with his hands.

"Johnny?"

He started violently, scrambling to his feet and facing the voice. "Roy!"

His partner emerged from the woods into the clearing. "I thought I remembered how to get here," he said, panting a bit.

"Roy, just go back home. I don't want to see anybody."

"I'm not leaving, so you might as well save your breath."

Johnny glared at him. "I told you how I felt back at Driscoll's office. Don't make me repeat myself."

"Won't make any difference. I'm not leaving." As if to punctuate his point, Roy folded his arms.

"Have it your way, then." Johnny turned his back and sat back down.

Roy joined him. "You left so suddenly," he began, watching John out of the corner of his eye. "I think we need to talk some more."

"I don't," John replied shortly.

"You said some things to me that need to be taken care of," Roy continued. "Y'see, I'm not content to leave things like this. I believe that our relationship is deeper that this. And I'm willing to work for it." He looked full at John. "Are you?"

Johnny cleared his throat. "I…I don't know anymore. I don't know about me…who I am. What I am."

Roy studied the profile of his friend, taking in the long, slightly crooked nose, the reckless hair, the deep-set eyes. "You're still John Gage, firefighter and paramedic," he replied quietly.

John held out his scarred arms. "But look what I've done! Look what I've become! I can never go back to who I was before."

Roy's voice shook when he answered. "Johnny, I am so sorry. I should have done more for you."

"You tried…"

"I mean, at the bar," Roy corrected hoarsely.

Johnny's torso heaved, and he couldn't look at Roy. "Why didn't you come in for me?"

Roy wiped his eyes. "I tried. You've got to believe me, Johnny!"

John faced Roy. "Then why didn't you?" he demanded.

"I tried!" A streak of moisture appeared on Roy's cheek. "I heard you…I wanted to get to you. I swear to God I did!"

"But you didn't!" Johnny shot back, his own cheeks now wet. "Why not?"

"Because—because I was afraid that they would do it to me, too! I was afraid that whatever they were doing to you they would do to me, too, and I didn't want to go in! Johnny, you've got to believe me, I am so sorry that it happened! I hate myself for what I did to you!" He stopped, his confession overwhelming his ability to speak.

Johnny stared at Roy. "I—I don't—you didn't do it to me," he whispered. "Roy, it wasn't your fault. I know what I said, but it wasn't your fault. I tried to blame it on you, but I was wrong. You didn't make me buy drugs. I did it. I did it all." He slowly shook his head. "I never thought about what you were going through. All I could think about was myself. But you're right. If you had gone back in, they would've hurt you, too." He stood up, his back to Roy. "You would've been…" He drifted away, unable to face his friend, unable to face himself.

Roy stared at his back, and memories of the long ago night at Melvin's Place covered them both.


	10. Chapter 10

Well, this is the final chapter. I want to thank those who have read the story, and I hope you have "enjoyed" it. I put more into this story than any other I've ever written. I want to thank Kenda, Peggy, and Donna, because it was they who really encouraged me when I was originally writing this story.

* * *

><p>The chirping of frogs woke him up. At least, that's what he told himself as he crawled over to the fire.<p>

Poking at the embers, he watched as the glowing wood began to glint in the darkness. Slivers of flame popped into existence.

Moving back a bit, he folded his hands on top of his knees, then rested his chin on his hands.

Staring into the growing fire, he felt his eyes relax their focus.

He knew that the tears were coming, but this time he did nothing to stop them. The memories had won, and he bowed before their strength, admitting that he could no longer fight.

It had happened.

"Why?" he whispered. "Why?"

"Johnny…"

He wasn't startled, but he jumped just the same, fighting one more time before giving in to his grief.

"Why did they hurt me? Why did they do those things to me?"

Roy's arm across his shoulder tightened. "Johnny, I'm so sorry."

"I don't understand why they did those things to me. I didn't do anything to them—" Johnny lost his voice in the midst of a sob. "I—I didn't do anything to them, so why did they hurt me?"

Roy whispered something in his ear. He didn't hear the words, but it was the voice of his friend.

"It was so bad! What they did to me…it was so bad!" Johnny's body convulsed, and Roy grasped his hand. "So many things…I didn't want to believe it!"

"I know, I know. It's okay now."

"I didn't want to believe that they did those things to me…" Johnny lifted his eyes to Roy's. "My God, Roy, they raped me! They raped me!"

Roy held him tighter, and as the frogs continued their cries, the young paramedic crouched in the arms of his partner and wept at the loss of his previous life.

* * *

><p>Johnny sat by the lake, staring into the rippling splashes of sunlit water. Roy stood some feet behind.<p>

"How're you feeling this morning?" Roy asked, settling next to John.

Johnny shrugged. "I've been better, I guess."

"Yeah, and I've seen you a lot worse, too."

Johnny finally smiled. "Okay, Mary Poppins. I'm feeling better." He took a deep drag from his cigarette, then coughed as he stubbed it out on a rock next to him.

"You really need to quit smoking, you know."

"Yeah, I know. Never should've started in the first place."

"Why did you start?"

"'Cause I was dumb." Johnny plucked a blade of grass and proceeded to pull it apart. "I guess I figured I needed to."

"I don't understand."

Johnny shrugged. "I guess…I thought that smoking fit the way I saw myself. Bad."

"Is that where the drinking came from, too?"

"Yeah. Mostly. I also wanted to forget…you know."

"Yep. I know."

"And when that wasn't enough, I…" Johnny stopped, studying the pieces that remained of the grass. "…I went to drugs."

Roy pulled his own piece of greenery from the ground. "I can understand what it was like for you. I mean, not exactly, but I'm not judging you. What you went through…well, I can't blame you."

"It was stupid," John stated. "Flat out stupid."

Roy cleared his throat. "Johnny, you…you dealt with it the only way you knew how. I don't blame you, and—"

"Well, it doesn't matter, because I'm probably out of the department anyway."

"Now don't give up. The committee is going to take everything into consideration. Everybody's behind you in this."

"I guess." Johnny managed a sardonic chuckle. "I'm gonna need all of the help I can get."

They sat in silence for a moment, then John spoke.

"It's weird, you know, that all this…this mess started with one small action so long ago."

He glanced over at Roy, found him listening intently, then continued.

"That drunk who puked all over me. I had to wash up. I had to go into the john. And look what happened. If only I hadn't gone in there."

"You can't second guess your decisions, Johnny. You didn't know. Nobody knew."

"But you can't help but think, if only I had done this, or if only I hadn't done that. It's enough to drive you crazy!" John paused, then added quietly, "I guess it did drive me crazy."

They were again quiet, watching the satiny water. Johnny dropped the blade of grass he had been picking apart.

"I wanted to kill them," he said flatly. "Especially the guy who kept calling me. Washington."

"That's understandable. I think we all have feelings like that."

Johnny faced him. "No, I mean I literally wanted to kill him, murder him. I wanted to take a gun and shoot him in the head. I went over the plan in my head again and again, until I knew exactly what I was gonna do and how I was gonna do it. I even knew where I was gonna get the gun. I played it all out, even the part where I get arrested and put away for the rest of my life." He shook his head. "It was so real. I mean, I really meant to kill the guy. Or—" He cut himself off.

"Never mind."

"What?"

"I'm no better than he is," Johnny whispered.

"Johnny, you're a lot better."

"No, you don't understand. I wanted to do to him what he did to me."

Roy swallowed uneasily. "I don't blame you."

"Maybe not," John said, pulling out another cigarette, "but I blame myself. Those men took everything from me…my dignity, my self-respect, my sanity." He stopped to light the cigarette.

"And after all that, I helped them along with poor decisions and thoughts that dragged me down to their level." He shifted his position so that he faced Roy. "They raped me, Roy," he said, his words choked. "Not just that night in the bar, but again and again, and the sad part of it is that I've been allowing them to assault me. I've allowed myself to remain their victim, to the point that my career may be over—" He was forced to stop, and he felt Roy's firm hand on his arm. "I'm not gonna let them rape me anymore," he continued, his voice thick. "I know now what they did to me, and I accept it, but I'm out of that bar, and they aren't holding me down anymore."

He caught Roy's eye. "And I don't blame you anymore," he went on with a glimmer of a smile. "I put you through hell, and I'm sorry. You didn't deserve it."

Roy bowed his head. "I don't know…"

Johnny heaved himself to his feet. "Come on, partner," he grinned, "let's catch dinner!"

* * *

><p>When he received the verdict of the committee, John Gage nearly collapsed back into his chair. Roy's strong hand on his arm steadied him enough to keep him on his feet, however, and he managed to thank the committee with a voice that was perilously close to choking.<p>

Twice-weekly counseling sessions, once a week drug counseling, one month's suspension without pay, and a frank lecture on the gratitude that John should feel for the multitude of friends who came forward on his behalf; the chairman of the committee didn't pause until the end.

"Mr. Gage, you stand before this committee having committed a crime that is diametrically opposed to everything the paramedic program stands for. It is with some misgiving that I agree to allow you to continue in the program, but with the support of people like Dr. Brackett, Dr. Early, Dr. Driscoll, Captain Stanley, and Roy DeSoto, I don't believe that you will disappoint us." The man smiled. "I wish you well, sir."

Johnny stood straighter. "Thank you, sir," he replied, returning the smile. He turned to shake hands with Roy, who then embarrassed him by pulling him into a hug. Captain Stanley, Chet, Marco, and Mike also wrung his hand, as did Drs. Brackett, Early, and Morton, and Dixie pushed her way in to also hug the paramedic. Dr. Driscoll stood to one side, smiling broadly as he watched Johnny and his supporters.

* * *

><p>Johnny insisted that he was okay when Roy looked concerned about his going home immediately after the committee's verdict.<p>

"Really, Roy, I'm fine. I just need some time to think about everything."

"Are you sure? You can come over to my house, or I can go home with you for awhile…"

John grasped Roy's arm. "I'm okay, partner," he said. "Believe me. I'm okay."

He waited to assure himself that Roy understood, then quickly headed for his Rover. He had something to do.

Once in his apartment, he gathered the ashtrays that he had scattered throughout. After emptying them, he put all but one away. Opening a drawer, he pulled out a Marlboro package, then fished out the final cigarette.

He smoked it quickly, watching the smoke swirl around his head, flicking the ash frequently. The final drag tasted bitter, and he purposely drew it in longer than normal, wanting the sensation to be unpleasant.

He snubbed the butt forcefully, almost angrily, then crushed the empty pack. Walking over to the garbage can, he tipped the ashtray and watched as the pack and butt dropped.

He then picked up the black book.

"No more of this. Good-by, black book." He ripped out the pages, then threw the cover and papers into the garbage.

"It's over," he whispered. "It's all over."

* * *

><p>He stood outside the station, scared to death, mortified, embarrassed, longing to be with his friends.<p>

Home…with men who believed in him, who cried with him, who fought the fight with him. He lifted his arm and looked at the fading needle marks, and he knew that the battle would continue, but he also knew that he could fight it with the help of his friends…his family. Now that he had finally faced the horrible truth of what had happened that night, he could at last purge the denial that had plagued him for so long. True, the memories would always be with him, and the John Gage who had walked this same path was gone forever, but the essence of his being had survived, and he would go on.


End file.
